


The Choices We Make

by stealing-jasons-job (changingthefairy_tale)



Category: The 100 (TV), The 100 Series - Kass Morgan
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bellarke, F/M, Finn is NOT endgame, Inspired by Grey's Anatomy, Slow Burn, Surgeon!Bellamy, Surgeon!Clarke, The whole squad is in this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:27:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 30,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21666670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/changingthefairy_tale/pseuds/stealing-jasons-job
Summary: This fic is currently on hiatus! It's not abandoned, and I will get back to it I promise! Thanks for being patient!**The Greys Anatomy/The 100 crossover you never knew you needed. While the very basic premise is based on Greys S1/S2, characters are jumbled. You don’t need to be a fan of Greys Anatomy to understand or enjoy. This is my first attempt at a fic, so please be kind! **Clarke Griffin is a mess after the death of her father and estrangement from her mother. She decides to spite her mother by doing her surgical residency across the country in the city she grew up in, Arkadia. Her first night back in town, she has a one night stand with a random guy at a bar, only to find out the next day that he’s a fellow intern — Finn Collins.Her first day as an intern definitely doesn’t go as planned. Her chief resident Bellamy Blake seems to hate her. The chief of surgery Marcus Kane apparently knows her mother. And Finn Collins is popping up everywhere. Surviving her residency at Arkadia Memorial may be harder than Clarke originally thought.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin, Finn Collins/Clarke Griffin - minor, Octavia Blake/Lincoln
Comments: 99
Kudos: 234





	1. Sexy Mistakes

**Author's Note:**

> Be forewarned. I’m not a doctor, so some of this may be a little factually inaccurate when it comes to correct medical procedures and hospital protocol. Just go with it. 
> 
> Currently rated mature for language, but it'll likely change to explicit before I'm done. But I'll update you when that happens! I'll also probably add more tags and characters as they pop up in the story. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy Ch. 1!

Clarke wakes up to the sun streaming in from the blinds, her mouth dry and head pounding. She’s on the couch, naked except for a throw pillow curled around her midsection. For a split second, she can’t quite remember where she is or how she got here. Then last night’s festivities come rushing back to her. 

She bolts into an upright position, immediately regretting the sudden movement. The tequila shots she took after intern orientation last night are threatening to make a reappearance. She looks around the living room and spots him lying facedown on the floor. The guy from the bar last night. 

It was Clarke’s last night of freedom before her first day as a surgical intern at Arkadia Memorial Hospital. She’d listed Arkadia as her top choice when the matching process began, choosing this hospital because her mother still had a house in the area and it was as far away from her prying eyes as possible. Of course, she had managed to bring a stranger home her very first official night in town. 

Clarke checked her phone sitting on the end table by the couch. It was already 6:25 a.m. Shit, she was going to be late for her first day if she didn’t get a move on. 

She got up, wrapping the blanket around her body before gently nudging her friend from last night with her foot. He stirred immediately, looking around frantically before seeing Clarke standing there. 

“Um, hi,” she managed with a shy smile. This was always the worst part — kicking them out in the morning. 

“Good morning,” he responded, too chipper for someone who just woke up on the floor of a random woman’s house. Without bothering to cover himself up, he rolled himself into a sitting position and wiped the sleep from his eyes. “Up for some breakfast before round two?” 

“I’m going to be late for my first day of work, which means I have to go take a shower,” Clarke hesitated for a moment, unsure how exactly to phrase the next bit. “And you won’t be here when I get done.” The man’s eyes flashed in amusement. 

“Kicking me out so soon after our lovely evening together?” he asked with a wink. Clarke shouldn’t have found him charming, but she couldn’t help shooting him an amused smile. 

“Goodbye…” she paused, searching her memory for a name. She panicked when nothing immediately came to her. 

When he realized she couldn’t remember his name, she reached his hand out to her. “Finn.” 

“Right, Finn. Clarke,” she responded as she shook his hand. God, this was awkward. She started slowly backing out of the living room towards the stairs. “Well, uh… thanks for last night, Finn.” Without waiting for his reply, she bolted upstairs to get ready for work. 

*** 

The locker room was already filled with fellow interns by the time she burst through the door at 6:55 a.m. Clarke hurried to change into her scrubs, throwing her still-damp hair into a messy ponytail. She was just getting her shoes tied when a young man opened the door with a clipboard in his hands. 

He didn’t even look up before spouting off a list of names. “Green, Jaha, McIntyre, Griffin. You’re with Dr. Blake.” When no one immediately moved, he looked up to scan the room. 

“Did I stutter?” he snapped. “Green, Jaha, McIntyre, Griffin. Get your skirts out of your ass and get moving.” At that, Clarke grabbed her white coat, shut her locker and headed out the door. Clarke smiled to herself that Wells had somehow ended up assigned to the same resident. At least she’d know one friendly face today. 

“I hear Blake is the Chief Resident. And a hardass, at that.” Clarke glanced at the young man who was now walking in step beside her, not bothering with a response. “Monty Green, future neuro God,” he beams at her. 

“Clarke Griffin,” she responds, matching his smile with an amused one of her own. 

“I’m sure he’s perfectly nice,” a female voice called out from right behind them. “You don’t get to be chief resident unless the others respect you.” 

Clarke wanted to point out that being nice and being respected are very different things, but she decided against it. She was still fighting off a hangover and didn’t want to encourage more gossip about their new boss. 

As they round the corner, Clarke sees Wells Jaha standing with who must be their new resident. They are both leaned up against the nurse’s station chatting easily with one another. Wells’ dad Thelonius is a member of the board of the hospital, so it makes sense that he would be familiar with some of hospital staff. _Of course Wells would manage to get there early to suck up_ , she thinks with an amused smirk. 

Wells looks up and catches her eye as he and Dr. Blake wrap up their discussion. She opens her mouth to give him shit about brown-nosing, but she doesn’t get the chance.

“I have five rules. Memorize them,” Dr. Blake’s voice cuts her off before she can say anything. It’s deep and commanding… and a bit sexy, if Clarke is being honest with herself. It goes well with this overall aesthetic. He’s tall and broad-shouldered, golden brown skin with a mess of dark curly hair. Clarke briefly wonders what it would be like to run her hands through it. _He’s your new boss. Mind out of the gutter, Griffin,_ she chastises herself. 

“Pick up your trauma protocols, phone lists and pagers. Rule number one, you never ignore a page. I don’t care what you’re doing or who you’re doing it with. You get a page, you answer it at a run. Got it?” He doesn’t wait for confirmation before moving on. 

“Your first shift is 36 hours and it starts now. You are interns. You run labs, you write orders, you do paperwork, you observe. You _do not_ operate unattended. You do not assist or observe surgeries unless asked by a resident or attending. Rule number two, don’t suck up to me or any of the attendings to get surgeries. It’ll only piss us off and waste everyone’s time.” At that, he gives the interns a small smirk before turning to walk off at a brisk pace. They all scramble to grab their pagers and booklets before following him. 

As they walk, Wells saddles up next to Clarke to give her a small nudge with his elbow. She gives him a smile before rolling her eyes. 

He opens the door to a room with bunk beds. Clarke had spent many nights as a child in one of those beds waiting for her mom to get done with surgery. “On-call rooms. Shifts are long and you all will be a mess even when you’re not sleep-deprived. Attendings and residents tend to hog them, so sleep where you can and when you can. That brings me to rule number three. Don’t wake me up unless someone is dying. I mean, so close to death there is a tag on their toe.” His pager suddenly beeps, and he checks it before turning to walk down the hallway back towards where they came. The interns once again follow without saying a word. 

“Incoming trauma, five minutes out. We’ll gown up, and you only do exactly as I say. Touch nothing, say nothing, do nothing unless given direction from me or an attending,” Bellamy commands as they walk. 

As they round another corner, a flash of scrubs jogs up to their group. “Sorry, I’m late. Dr. Finn Collins reporting for duty,” the final intern in their group pants coming to a stop in front of the group. Clarke almost does a double-take. Dammit, her one-night stand is here. He’s an intern. At Arkadia Memorial. And he’s staring right at her with the biggest shit-eating grin she’s ever seen. _God, just kill me now._

Dr. Blake ignores Finn as he continues to walk at pace that Clarke’s shorter legs nearly has to jog to keep up with. “Any questions?” 

“You only listed three rules,” Clarke points out, doing her best to keep up with Dr. Blake as he walks. He gives her sideways glance, an unimpressed look on his face. 

“Rule number four, don’t be late for your shift. That includes you, Dr. Collins. Even if your grandfather did cofound this hospital,” Dr. Blake snaps. Whoa, Finn was Rupert Collins’ grandson? 

They half-walk, half-jog the rest of the way to the trauma bay. Once there, they each grab a yellow trauma gown. Clarke immediately goes to help Wells tie his at his neck, and she feels someone else grab her own. 

“Imagine my surprise to see you here,” Finn says, tying her gown at her neck. His voice is teasing, the same carefree attitude he had at the bar last night still present this morning. 

“You two know each other?” Wells asks, looking over Clarke’s head at Finn. 

“Not really,” Clarke blurts out at the same time Finn says, “She kicked me out of her house this morning.” 

Wells was obviously trying to suppress a smile, looking at Clarke with wide eyes. Clarke elbowed Finn lightly in the stomach before turning on him. 

“Maybe let’s keep that info to ourselves, okay?” she snaps, giving him a stern look. He just laughs. 

“Are you here to practice medicine or socialize, doctors?” Dr. Blake barks from the open trauma bay doors. Clarke fights the urge to roll her eyes at him. Monty was right, it would seem their resident is definitely a hardass. 

Finn, Wells, and Clarke quickly finish tying their gowns and rush out to stand behind Dr. Blake. Two ambulances are just pulling into the bay, lights flashing and sirens blaring. As soon as the rigs stop, doors bust open and paramedics hop out.

“MVC on highway 90. Driver crossed over the median and into oncoming traffic,” one paramedic motions to the man strapped on the gurney. We’ve got multiple crash victims on their way in, but this guy is probably the most pressing. Anthony Farnam, male, 43. Head lac and a puncture wound to the abdomen. Lost consciousness on the way here, and he’s lost a lot of blood.” 

“Okay, Jaha grab this gurney and take him to trauma room 2 and page Dr. Monroe. Keep pressure on his abdominal wound until she gets there and can assess. Can you handle that?” Wells gives a nod before grabbing the gurney to push inside. As he disappears behind the doors, Clarke can hear him yell for a nurse to page Monroe. 

The second ambulance opens, another paramedic jumping out to help unload the gurney. 

“Melinda Carter, minor head lac and fractured femur but otherwise seems okay,” the paramedic hands her off to Dr. Blake. 

“Hey Melinda, how are we feeling?” Dr. Blake asks, his voice softening from the bark he uses on the interns. 

“Where’s my Danny?! He was thrown from the vehicle, and I couldn’t see him,” the young woman is crying, frantically looking around. 

“Alright, alright,” Dr. Blake soothes. “We’ll see what we can find out about Danny. Is he your…” he raises his eyebrows at the patient, waiting for a response. 

“My fiance,” she sobs, her words slurred. “He had taken his seatbelt off because I asked him to grab my purse from the backseat. He was thrown from the car when we got hit. Is he going to be okay?” She had to pause every couple of words to breathe through her tears. Clarke’s heart broke a little for the woman. 

“I’m sure he’s on his way in right behind you. In the meantime, let’s get this head wound checked out and see if we can’t get your leg squared away, okay?” Dr. Blake turned to Clarke and the other female intern, immediately slipping back into a more demanding tone. “McIntyre, Griffin. Take Ms. Carter to ER bed 3. Page ortho and neuro. Order a head CT, and see about cleaning up that head lac.” 

Another ambulance is pulling into the bay, and Dr. Blake turns his back on the two young women. Clarke takes that as her signal to go, she grabs the head of the gurney and pushes it inside. 

Once they’ve got Ms. Carter into the ER, Clarke begins prepping to clean the wound. “Melinda, I’m Dr. Griffin and this is Dr. McIntyre. I’m going to see about cleaning this cut while we wait for ortho to look at your leg and CT to open up, okay?” Ms. Carter, who is still crying, simply nods. 

“Alright, I’m going to need you to be as still as possible, can you do that for me?” Clarke asks sympathetically. She looked at the other intern, a question in her eyes. Dr. McIntyre nods, running off to page ortho and neuro and put the lab order in. 

Clarke begins gently cleaning the blood from Ms. Carter’s face, trying her best to be gentle. To Ms. Carter’s credit, she stops crying and holds still while Clarke works. Thankfully, the cut itself seems minor and most of the bleeding has stopped. Clarke makes quick work of rinsing the wound and rolling a small amount of Betadine onto the area to disinfect the cut. 

Dr. McIntyre comes back, a frown on her face. “CT is backed up and both ortho and neuro are on other consults. Since our patient is nonemergent, it’ll be a bit before they get to us.” 

Clarke nods. “I’ll sit here with Ms. Carter. Will you go see what you can find out about her fiance Danny? The victims should all be in beds by now if they were brought in at the same time.” Harper immediately goes to ask a nurse for a list of trauma bed patients. 

Once Clarke gets the rest of the bleeding to stop and a small bandage over the cut, she starts filling out Ms. Carter’s chart, asking questions. 

“Dr. Griffin?” she asks, shakily. Clarke looks up from the iPad where she is inserting all of the patient’s information. “When will the other doctors get here? I’m not feeling so great.” 

It sounds like Melinda’s breathing is labored, and Clarke immediately pulls out her stethoscope to check for breath sounds. Before she can do a full check, Ms. Carter cries out in pain, curling up on her left side. 

“Ahhh! Oh my god it hurts, it hurts!” Clarke panics at the sudden change in condition. 

“Ms. Carter? Where does it hurt? Can you breathe for me?” she asks, trying hard to remain calm. Her heartbeat skyrockets, as she tries to lay Ms. Carter down flat on her back. 

“That makes it worse!” Ms. Carter clutches at the left side of her chest. Her lips are starting to turn blue. 

It’s a pneumothorax. Her lung is collapsing. “Somebody page cardio stat!” Clarke calls out to one of the nurses that immediately rushes over to her side. But there’s not enough time. Ms. Carter will die in a matter of minutes if they don’t reinflate this lung. Fuck. 

“Somebody get me a 10-gage needle!” she calls, holding out her right hand. She’d seen her mother do this enough times, and she’s practiced the procedure on cadavers. She can do this. 

A nurse hands her the needle with a worried look on his face. Harper runs back over to the bed. 

“What are you doing?!” 

“Pneumothorax. No time to wait for a resident or attending. She’ll die if we don’t relieve the pressure,” Clarke explains in as calm a voice as possible. She can hear her heartbeat in her ears. The other intern just nods, eyes wide. 

Clarke places the tip of the syringe over the left chest cavity, sending up a silent prayer to whatever gods are listening that she manages to pull this off on the first try. 

“Okay, Ms. Carter. I’m going to insert this needle into your chest to relieve the pressure. You’re going to feel a pinch, but then you should start to feel better.” Clarke doesn’t wait for the woman to respond before making her move. 

One deep breath, and then boom. Clarke inserts the needle swiftly, careful not to go too deep. Ms. Carter cries out again as the needle goes in and Clarke winces at the sound. If she did it right, they should hear— 

Ms. Carter takes a deep inhale. _Thank God._

Clarke lets out the breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding, looking up at Dr. McIntyre. 

“That was badass,” the nurse who handed her the needle whispers from beside her. Clarke gives him a small smile, willing her heartbeat to return to normal. 

“What in the actual hell do you think you’re doing?!” Dr. Blake’s voice booms at her from the middle of the room. He storms over, and if looks good kill, Clarke is sure she’d be out cold already. 

“Pneumothorax. We paged cardio, but there was no time. I had to inflate the lung,” she explains. 

“What did I just say about not doing any procedures without express permission? I swear it’s like all of you interns think you’re world-renown surgeons the second you put on your stethoscopes,” he snaps. Clarke could feel herself temper rising.

“If I had waited, she would have died. Would you have rather me killed her by doing nothing?” Clarke throws back at him, more venom in her voice than she should have allowed. Dr. Blake looks taken aback at her brazen response. 

“You sticking a needle in her chest could have just as easily killed her, too.” 

“Except it didn’t,” Clarke snapped, the words falling out of her mouth before she could stop them. Dr. Blake didn’t dignify that with his own response. 

“Go tell CT we have an emergent patient coming down and to prep for both head and chest. Then page cardio again.” He paused for a moment before adding, “That is, if you think you can handle those instructions.” 

Clarke stormed off towards CT, muttering to herself about what an ass her resident is. Of course she would manage to get stuck with the most pigheaded, hardass in the hospital. Any attraction she may have felt for him earlier this morning was immediately squashed. 

As she leaves the ER, she sees Chief Kane watching from the entryway. Shit, now she could get reamed by him, too. But rather than looking angry, Dr. Marcus Kane has a small smile on his face. 

“You made the right call,” he says as she gets closer. She blinks for a moment, surprised that the chief of surgery agreed with her decision over his top resident. “I’d recognize you anywhere. You look just like your mother, Clarke. Welcome to the game,” he smirks before turning to walk away. 

Chief Kane knew her mother? Clarke stands there shocked for a moment before running off to CT. It had only been an hour into her first shift, and she’d already managed to piss off her resident. The chief resident, at that. 

_Well, I’m screwed._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there's chapter one! Please let me know what you think in the comments. Like I said, this is my first ever fic on here, so I'd love the feedback. 
> 
> More to come shortly!


	2. Keep Breathing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all. I am SO sorry it's taken so long to add a new chapter. Work's been insane leading up the holiday break, so I've been working late to prep our content schedule. But I wanted to thank you guys for the amazing response to the first chapter. I have the general chapter layout laid out for the entire story (though I'm sure it will evolve a little as I write), and I'm so excited to dig into these characters. 
> 
> Your patience is amazing, and I promise updates will come more frequently now! Here's chapter two. Not as high-energy as chapter one, but an important one for story set-up and overall context. Enjoy!

After the end of their first shift, the interns all collapse into a booth at The Dropship, the bar across the street from the hospital. It was 36 hours of absolute hell, and the only thing Clarke really wanted to do was fall into her bed and go to sleep. But when Wells and Monty begged her to have at least one drink with everyone, she relented. These were the people she was going to be spending countless hours with over the next few years, after all. 

“Who feels like they have no idea what they’re doing?” Monty grumbles. The interns all stick their hands up in the air. 

“Put your hand down, Griffin. I watched you reinflate a woman’s chest yesterday with zero supervision,” Harper scoffs. 

“You also watched me get my ass handed to me by Dr. Blake just after,” Clarke points out. Word about Clarke’s escapades had taken no time to circulate throughout the hospital, which meant residents and attendings were already making assumptions about her. She wasn’t sure if it would end up hindering or helping her in the long-run. 

“I have many questions about how you came to the conclusion that sticking a needle in someone’s chest was a good idea, but first… alcohol. Copious amounts of alcohol,” Finn declared, getting up to order drinks at the bar. 

“Ooo, get me a beer,” Harper told him. Monty followed suit, and Wells got a scotch. 

“Tequila for Dr. Griffin?” Finn asked, a mischievous glint in his eyes. The corners of his mouth were turned up just slightly. 

“Just a beer, please,” she shot him a warning glare from across the table. Thankfully, he didn’t press her before turning to grab everyone’s drinks. 

“Okay, so where is everyone from?” Harper asked, looking around at each of her new coworkers. Clarke had already decided that she liked Harper. She was obviously kind and competent at her job, if not a bit more bubbly than the women Clarke usually found herself becoming friends with. 

“Born and raised here in Arkadia,” Wells responds. 

“Your dad is on the board of the hospital, right?” Monty pipes up. Wells just nods in response, not offering any more detail on the subject. Clarke knew he didn’t particularly like talking about his father. The infamous Thelonius Jaha was a former surgeon, now acting as a board member for a number of hospitals across the country, which made him revered by some and hated by others. She knew Wells preferred to stand on his own two feet instead of being at the mercy of others’ opinions of his father. 

“And you two obviously know each other,” Harper gestured between Clarke and Wells. 

“Since diapers. I have the embarrassing photos to prove it,” Clarke smirked up at Wells, who just stuck his tongue out to mock her in response. “Thelonius and my mother did their residencies together.” 

“Wait, wait, wait. Don’t tell me your mother is Dr. Abigail Griffin,” Monty cut in, his face scrunched up as if he wasn’t sure whether to be in awe or jealous. “Legendary Abigail Griffin who trailblazed new reconstructive options for cancer survivors?” Clarke was used to this kind of reaction from people when they learned her parentage. The knowledge was always met with reverence and a ton of questions about how wonderful it is to have one of the top surgeons in the country as your mother. 

Clarke always smiled and played along, but it was tiresome. Only a few select people knew the real Abby Griffin. The impossible standards, the neglectful tendencies, the self-importance, the substance abuse to stay at the top of her game. The perfectly crafted image everyone sees on the cover of MD Magazine was far from the mother Clarke grew up with. 

Thankfully, Clarke doesn’t have to talk about her mother because Finn comes back to the table bearing drinks. With everyone distracted by their alcohol, the topic of conversation moves on to easier subjects. Med school stories, rants about their first shift and hospital gossip. 

“I heard Dr. Blake is quite the panty dropper,” Harper giggles, lowering her voice. The whole group was a few rounds in. Everyone was loosening up, laughing more and telling more ridiculous stories. 

“Have you looked at him? Of course half the hospital is trying to sleep with him,” Monty says dramatically. Clarke wasn’t blind. Dr. Blake was extremely attractive, but his looks and personality stood at odds with one another. He had a head full of messy curls and an angular jawline that made him look almost dangerous in a way, but he acted like a bit of a self-righteous boy scout. Clarke had just spent 36 hours on and off with him, and she didn’t see him actually smile once. She found it hard to believe he spent his free time banging nurses in on-call rooms. 

“Nah, Blake’s too much of a boy scout to be using on-call rooms for anything other than sleep,” Finn says, voicing essentially what Clarke was just thinking. She nods her head in agreement when Harper looks across the booth at her.

“You’re telling me you wouldn’t go there,” Harper challenges, a smile playing on her lips. 

“I don’t make it a habit of sleeping with my bosses, even when they look like Blake,” Clarke smirks back at Harper. Wells, who had been mostly silently listening to the conversation up to this point, starts chuckling to himself. 

“Got something to share with the class?” Clarke raises her eyebrows at him before taking another sip of her beer. 

“Oh, so you don’t make it a habit of sleeping with your bosses, but med school professors are on the table?” The rest of the table disintegrates into laughter at the look on Clarke’s face after that, and Harper throws a peanut shell across the table at Clarke. 

“You did not!” she howls. Clarke gives Wells a fake affronted look, trying to keep herself from joining in on the laughter. 

“First of all,” she almost yells to be heard over the rest of the booth’s giggles. “Lexa was a TA, not a professor. If you’re going to try to roast me, you could at least get the facts straight.” But trying to act stern wasn’t working. Clarke was laughing, too, the alcohol making her loosen up. 

She looked around at this booth filled with the people she’d be spending the next few years of her life with, and for the first time in a while, she felt like she had found somewhere maybe she could belong. 

*** 

Over the next few weeks, the interns fell into an easy routine. Someone always brought coffee in the morning from the good cart in the lobby. They would do their rounds, spend lunch and lulls in their shifts hanging out together studying procedures or watching surgeries from the gallery, and almost always hit up The Dropship together after their shift with others from the hospital. 

Monty’s roommate and childhood best friend Jasper started joining their after-shift drinks at The Dropship after the first week. He was actually the nurse that had helped her with the pneumothorax on that first day. Clarke immediately took to liking him. He was an absolute goofball, constantly making them laugh with his antics. And he opened Monty up in a way, making him more relaxed and carefree. 

All in all, things were looking up after the disaster of that first shift. Well, they were mostly looking up. Dr. Blake was infuriating, and he and Clarke argued constantly. That first night, Finn had called him a boy scout, and working under him these past few weeks just proved that assumption.

After that first shift, she had researched as much as she could about him. His first name was Bellamy. He definitely wasn’t a legacy child — she couldn’t really find anything about his parents. He went to a state school for both undergrad and medical school, graduated middle of his class. Until he showed up at Arkadia, he had been somewhat of a nobody. Of course, since starting at Arkadia Memorial, he had become one of the top surgeons at the hospital and had gained a small bit of national recognition for the work he was doing under Dr. Pike. 

There were a few research papers published from his residency, all related to cardiothoracic surgery. Clarke had to remind herself not to be impressed when she read through those.

No matter how deep she dug, she couldn’t find any hint as to who he was as a surgeon or a person beyond the limited interactions she has with him at work. And it was hard to glean any info at work because, for the most part, she tried to avoid him. Every time they spoke, they got into an argument about something. Bellamy was obviously the more senior surgeon, and it showed. But he was also infuriating. 

The man was ridiculously uptight about following protocol. Other residents allowed the interns to assist on minor procedures. And Clarke had grown up around a hospital. She knew enough to know that protocol was bent all the time in certain circumstances. Patients came first, protocol came second. 

Dr. Bellamy Blake did not agree with that sentiment, it would seem. If anyone so much as breathed on a patient in a way that might potentially go outside of standard operating procedure, trauma protocol, or hospital policy, he would rip them a new one before reprimanding them to scut duty for the rest of the shift. 

Charts were religiously kept updated, even with information anyone sane would consider inconsequential. Rounds were prompt and filled with board-level questions regarding potential diagnoses and treatment options. Running tests took twice as long, and procedures were done precisely by the book. 

Keeping her distance was the easiest way to be productive and sane while on shift. Luckily, Finn was usually down to use breaks to study in far-flung corners of the hospital, which is exactly what they were doing now. 

She was curled up on the ledge of a patient room window up on the top floor of the outpatient wing of the hospital. Arkadia dealt with trauma more than elective surgeries, so no one was ever on the top floor of overflow, especially so late at night. 

Finn was propped up on the floor beneath her, his eyes narrowed in concentration over the textbook in his lap. 

“I watched Indra do a Whipple this morning, but she used a stitching method I’d never seen before. I’ve been searching all night in textbooks looking for it,” Finn muttered, quickly flipping from page to page. “How can it not be documented anywhere?” 

“Oh, I know exactly what you’re talking about,” Clarke perks up, putting aside the charts she was currently working on. “She uses that same technique on a lot of internal tissue, and it holds every time. She spent years doing fieldwork in Sierra Leone after her fellowship, and I think she must have picked it up then.” 

“In that case, is it even allowed in the U.S.?” Finn asks, closing his book a little more forceful than normal. Clarke had wondered how he was handling the stress of the new job. He was always so quick to put on a smile and act like a happy-go-lucky guy, but he couldn’t be impervious to the constant pressure the interns were put under by each other and their superiors. 

“It’s obviously a superior stitching technique for general surgery. She does have one of the lowest mortality rates in the country,” Clarke points out. To be honest, Clarke admired Indra and her fearlessness in the OR. She improvised when necessary, bent rules where appropriate and knew when an unorthodox method was the best way to achieve a positive outcome. Basically, she was the opposite of Bellamy. 

Finn opens his mouth, looking like he’s about to argue when Clarke’s pager goes off. Bellamy wanted to see her. 

“And to think I was having such a lovely morning,” she mutters to herself, collecting her charts and straightening her scrubs. 

“Coffee later?” Finn asks, eyebrows raised hesitantly. Clarke sighs, studying his face for his intent. While they had agreed to remain friends and be professional at work, Finn consistently made small gestures that bordered on asking her out or getting too flirtatious. He smirks at her, raising his hands in surrender. “As friends, of course.” 

“As friends,” she confirms, walking out of the room to find Dr. Blake. As she rounds the corner, she can’t help but smile to herself. 

Clarke found Bellamy looking through charts at one of the nurse’s stations. He looked deep in thought, his whole body curled over the countertop reading through the file. His curls were falling down in his face. 

He looked up when he heard her approach, and Clarke was surprised to find that he was wearing glasses. She didn’t even know he needed glasses. She tried very hard not to notice how good they looked on him. 

“You paged, but the nurses said there wasn’t an emergency or anything,” Clarke said by way of greeting. 

“Chief wants to see you in his office,” only giving her a split second of attention before refocusing on the patient chart in front of him. Better for him to ignore you than yell at you, Clarke reminded herself. 

She walked off towards Chief Kane’s office, wondering what it was he needed.

When she knocked on his open door to announce her presence, he was standing at the side of the room making a cup of tea. He was dressed in scrubs instead of his usual button-down and tie. 

“Ah, Clarke. Come in. Do you want a cup of tea?” he asked casually, as if it wasn’t 3 a.m. He must have seen the slightly confused look on Clarke’s face because he smiled and explained. 

“Overnight shifts are really the only time I get to just be a surgeon and not chief. Sorry if I’ve woken you, but this also happens to be the only time I had this week to talk with you about something.” 

That sounds rather ominous, Clarke thinks to herself. Perhaps Dr. Blake had finally decided he was tired of dealing with her and she was getting kicked out of the program. She didn’t really believe Bellamy was that vindictive, but anything was possible when you’re sitting down for a 3 a.m. meeting with the chief of surgery. 

“I was hoping you could talk to your mother on behalf of the hospital. We’d love to have her do a guest lecturer series here on her work with reconstructive surgery for burn victims.” He had his hands clasped in front of him, a hopeful look on his face. Clarke sighed. 

“You and my mother used to be friends, right? When you were both doing your residencies here? I’m sure she’d love to hear from you and catch up,” Clarke started tentatively. “I assure you she’ll be more motivated if asked by the chief of surgery than by her daughter.” 

Clarke actively avoided calling her mother almost as much as she actively avoided interacting with Bellamy at work. 

“Oh, I’m sure she’d love to come for a visit to see her only daughter thriving at her internship. Everyone here has only good things to say about you,” Chief Kane commented. He rose from his desk, a gesture that Clarke took as confirmation that she didn’t really have a choice in the matter. 

She was surprised to hear Kane say he’d only heard good things. Surely of all the times Bellamy had yelled at her over the past few weeks, he would have said something to his boss about the intern that, according to him, is a pain in his side. 

“I’ll give her a call in the morning, sir,” Clarke confirmed, standing to leave. Kane smiled and dismissed her. 

When she does finally call her mother later that morning, she is once again reminded why she avoids these chats at all costs. Abby didn’t even ask Clarke how she was doing, jumping straight into questions about her performance so far as an intern. 

“What surgeries have you assisted on thus far? All good outcomes, I hope. It’s never too early to start thinking about your record as a surgeon,” she lectures without taking a breath. 

“I’ve only actually been able to assist on about five surgeries, Mom. All good outcomes, though.” Clarke had been lucky not to lose a patient on the table during any operations she had been in thus far. 

“Clarke,” her mother’s voice was dripping with its infamous condescension and disapproval. “You’ve been a surgical intern for over a month, and you’ve only assisted in a handful of surgeries? What exactly are you doing over at Arkadia?” She rolls her eyes before attempting to answer that. 

“Our chief resident is a bit…strict when it comes to letting interns into the OR. I’m learning a lot. Everything is fine, Mom.” 

“This is why I suggested doing your residency somewhere closer to home, where I could ensure you had a more direct path to being in on the right surgeries and learning from the right surgeons. Honey, your internship year is critical in determining how you will do for the rest of your career. You have to take this seriously.” 

Clarke shifts on the balls of her feet, familiar anxiety flooding her system. Discussions with her mother about her She knew that deep down, her mother just wanted her to reach her goals. But it would be nice if once and a while Abby acted as if she cared about something other than Clarke’s professional success as a surgeon. 

“I know you wished I had stayed closer to home, but I needed to make my own path. I want to succeed because I’m a talented surgeon who works her ass off, not because my mother laid all the groundwork for me,” she repeats the same answer she gave every time her mother complained about her choices. First with her med school choices and now with her residency program. 

“Most surgical interns would kill to have a mother who is willing and able to help them get ahead in their careers. Please don’t act like I’m being unreasonable by wanting what’s best for you.” Her mom actually sounds a bit hurt, and Clarke momentarily feels guilty for resenting the fact that her mother is so successful. 

“I know you do, Mom,” Clarke sighs. “Look, I didn’t call to fight. I actually wanted to ask if you would consider coming out to Arkadia for a visit. Chief Kane wanted me to extend an invitation for you to guest lecture the next time you come to see me.” 

Clarke conveniently left out her suspicions that Abby would never willingly come back to Arkadia for a social visit with her daughter. The woman barely made time for her when they lived in the same house. There was no way she would drop everything for a long weekend fully dedicated to spending time with Clarke. 

“Marcus wants me to guest lecture?” her mother’s voice sounds confused. Clarke reminds herself to ask either Abby or Chief Kane about their friendship at the next appropriate opportunity. 

“Yes. He was very insistent that I ask,” Clarke pauses before continuing, an awkward silence hanging between mother and daughter. “It would mean a lot for you to see where I work and meet my coworkers and bosses.” 

There is a moment’s hesitation on the other side of the phone, and Clarke is almost certain that her mother would come up with an excuse not to make the trip. But then she surprises Clarke by saying, “I wouldn’t miss it. Let me get back with you with potential dates, and you can get Marcus to schedule whichever is best for your schedule over there. Okay?” 

Clarke lets out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. 

“Thanks, Mom. Talk to you soon?” 

“Yes, sweetie. You know I love you, Clarke. Right?” Clarke’s heart breaks a little at that. She wishes her mother and her could have a better relationship, she really does. If she could just learn to back off on the pressure a little bit. 

“I know, Mom. I love you, too. Bye.” She hangs up the phone before anything else can be said, wanting a conversation to end on a positive note for once.

Well, Chief Kane will be pleased, at the very least. 

She makes her way to the coffee cart in the lobby a little early. Rounds start in 20 minutes, and that conversation just mentally drained her of all energy. As she walks up, she sees that he’s already there, waiting with two lattes. She offers him a weak smile, sinking into the chair across from him. 

“You have no idea how much I need this caffeine,” she mumbles, taking a sip and not even caring that it burned her tongue a little. 

“Rough morning? Don’t tell me Blake reamed you for some nonexistent transgression again.” He flicked his hair out of his face, concern etched across his features. 

“Surprisingly not Dr. Blake this time. I just got off the phone with my mother,” she admits. “If I were a better person, I would be excited about her coming to visit.” As if out of habit, he reaches across the table to rest his hand on top of hers. 

“Parents suck sometimes, even when they mean well.” Clarke knew she should move her hand out from under his, and reprimand him for flirting, especially in public. But she can’t muster the energy. She’s physically, mentally, and emotionally drained between long shifts and her mother and this weird tension with her boss, and Finn is looking at her with his brown eyes like she’s the only person in the world. 

So for now, she lets him rub his thumb gently across her knuckles and offer to help her with her charts later. And she pretends it’s only because she’s stressed and tired, and not because for some reason he seems to have sucked all the anxiety from her mother’s call right out of her by the time she’s finished her latte.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is tagged Bellarke, but that is a SLOW burn. Hope you guys are ready for some Flarke romance (and Bellarke angst) over the next few chapters. ;) If not, rest assured that ya girl is 100% on the Bellarke train, so your agony will not last forever. 
> 
> As always, I love the comments, kudos and feedback. Feel free to follow me on Tumblr @changingthefairy-tale for updates and my random fandom thoughts.


	3. Feels Like

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's Chapter 3! Hope you guys enjoy.

“Clarke, put down the window cleaner or so help me God, I will move out and leave you without my rent money,” Monty bristles from the kitchen island, eating his cereal half awake. 

Monty, Harper and Clarke had all become roommates after their first month working together. Clarke was hesitant about taking on roommates she already had to spend a considerable amount of time with because of work. But Harper had been crashing on a friend’s couch and Monty had been living at home, which made Clarke feel a bit guilty. The discounted rent she charges helps with her monthly student loan payments (she’d refused to allow her mother to pay for her medical school, taking out loans like the majority of her classmates). 

All in all, the arrangement was working out well. Monty was a neat freak and Harper was much better at cooking than Clarke. And when her new roommates got to be just a bit too much, she would retreat to the reading room to sketch or go on a walk.

“You would understand if you’d ever met my mother,” Clarke grumbled back, continuing to scrub away at the streaks on the window above the sink. Abby is set to arrive that evening, and Clarke new the place needed to be spotless, even if Abby had insisted that she was going to stay at a hotel rather than at the house she technically still owned. 

“Why are you stressing out so much about your mom visiting? I’m sure she’ll be more interested in how you’re doing than any dirt that’s on the kitchen window,” Monty says, an eyebrow raised. 

Clarke knows she’s been on edge the past few weeks. She’s snapped at Monty and Harper on more than one occasion about vacuuming or using a coaster. Everyone at work had gotten the same memo to steer clear whenever possible. Dr. Blake had even seems to have noticed. He’s been keeping his distance at work rather than pushing her buttons the past few shifts. 

The only one who still hung around was Finn, who was annoying positive and upbeat no matter Clarke’s mood. 

It’s just… her relationship with her mother had always been complicated. Clarke had always been close with both of her parents growing up, but her father always seemed to just get her in a way her mother never could. After he died, Abby withdrew into her work, only really interacting with Clarke to criticize her choices or lecture her. She knew her mother loved her, but she couldn’t help feeling like she was constantly disappointing Abby. 

“I know I’ve been difficult lately,” Clarke sighs, finally putting down the window cleaner and rag. She met Monty’s gaze in sincere apology, willing herself to let herself be vulnerable in front of her new friend. “To be honest, my mother didn’t exactly approve of my choice to move back to Arkadia for my residency. She wanted me to work at her hospital and then follow in her footsteps and specialize in plastic surgery.” 

“So why did you choose Arkadia?” he asks, his head tilted in genuine curiosity. 

“This is my hometown. We moved away when I was younger for my mom’s job, but this is still where I was born. I have so many memories with my parents here, happy ones. I guess I just wanted a place where I could be my own person away from my mother while still being close to my roots.” Clarke shrugs, suddenly feeling a bit awkward for sharing. She knew she could trust Monty, but it still made her feel weird to divulge personal thoughts and feelings. She’d never been one to discuss stuff like this with many people. 

Monty got up to put his dishes in the sink and came to stand next to Clarke. 

“It’s going to be fine. You’re one of the best interns at the hospital. How can she not be proud of you?” he flashes her a knowing look and a small smile, bumping his shoulder into hers. “Come one, we’re going to be late for our shift.”   
Clarke lets out a breathe. Maybe Monty was right. Maybe this could be a turning point in Clarke’s relationship with her mother. Maybe her mom would be proud of her. 

***

Clarke should have known better than to let Monty’s positivity seep into her mind.

She had remained upbeat until the second she picked her mother up from the airport. Kane had given her the afternoon to grab her mother, insisting she was technically still working since it was hospital business to welcome a guest lecturer. 

As soon as Abby saw her daughter waiting out by her car, she frowned. “Clarke dear, what are you doing away from the hospital. You really can’t afford to be missing out on work so often.” 

“Nice to see you too, Mom,” Clarke sighed. It didn’t get any better from there. 

All Abby did was nitpick the hospital and how Clarke interacted with her colleagues. First, she questions Clarke’s decision to allow roommates. 

“You should remain focused on the task ahead of you, making a good impression on attendings, studying for your boards, narrowing down a specialty. Not playing house with your fellow interns,” Abby scoffs upon learning that Harper and Monty live with Clarke. 

Next, she wants to complain about the “lack of talent” the hospital had brought in in recent years. 

“I thought Kane was better than to bring a bunch of no-named attendings to the hospital. Indra Porter is barely a board-certified doctor in this country. She shouldn’t be in charge of an entire speciality.” 

Clarke rolls her eyes at that one. “Dr. Porter has one of the best records in the country. Don’t be prejudiced just because she has a unique surgical training background, Mom.” But Abby just gave her daughter a disapproving look out of the corner of her eye before continuing on her rant fest. 

“And I’m concerned about your assigned resident, Clarke. I’ve looked into him… Bellamy Blake? Aside from some substandard published papers, he’s barely known in the medical community. State school, no honors, average test scores. I’m not sure he’s the right person to teach you.” 

Clarke bites her tongue to keep herself from snapping at her mother. Sure, Dr. Blake was an ass half the time, but he was a damn good doctor. What does it matter what school he attended? 

“I’m learning a lot from Dr. Blake. Can we just talk about something else, please? How was your flight?” she perks up, hoping her mother would allow her to change the subject. 

“Oh, you know I just want what’s best for you, Clarke,” her mother says, wrapping an awkward arm around her shoulders. Clarke sighs for what feels like the millionth time since her mother landed in Arkadia. 

“I know, Mom. But I like it here. And I’ll remind you that this is where you did your residency. Just because it wasn’t your first choice for me doesn’t mean it isn’t a good fit,” Clarke gives her mother a small smile, hoping to communicate that she wanted the subject to drop. 

Luckily, Chief Kane chooses that moment to walk up to the pair, his hands clasped together as if he’s nervous. 

“Abby. Thank you again for taking the time to come lecture,” he says, a tight smile on his face. 

“Did you really think I’d say no, Marcus?” Her tone isn’t unkind, exactly. But there’s certainly an edge to the words and a tightness in her eyes that matches Kane’s. Clarke tilts her head, her eyes narrowed on her mother’s response. 

“Remind me how you two know each other again?” Clarke asks, curious. 

Without looking away from her mother, Kane says, “We both did our residencies here.” 

“Yes, such a long time ago,” Abby responds in the same tone as before. Clarke was growing more confused, not to mention curious, by the second. It was so odd to see her mother look nervous or awkward. She was usually so relaxed and in control, no matter the circumstances. 

There’s a beat of an awkward silence, with neither Kane nor Abby saying anything or looking away from the other. Almost as if in a contest to see who would break first. 

“Well, I have evening rounds to attend to, and Dr. Blake does not forgive tardiness. Mom, I’ll see you for dinner?” Abby finally looks away from Chief Kane to kiss her daughter on the cheek, her normal smile and poker face back on her face as if nothing had happened. 

“Yes, dear. I have a few things to discuss with Marcus anyway. Meet you in the lobby at 8.” 

With a quick nod and smile to Kane, Clarke hurries off to meet the rest of the interns and Dr. Blake. 

“You’re almost late,” Dr. Blake comments as she approaches, last to join their group. Clarke looks down at her watch and rolls her eyes. 

“Almost late is not the same as being late. I was discussing something with my mother and Chief,” Clarke let her annoyance seep into her voice. He was insufferable, and she was in no mood to deal with her mother and her resident nitpicking every action. 

He looks up to meet her eyes then, obviously surprised she retorted in front of the other interns. As if he knows not to push her, he simply sighs and nods for the group to start on rounds. They all walk into the first patient’s room without comment. 

Rounds go off without a hitch, and the interns are dismissed to clock out. Clarke goes out in search of her mother, only to hear her and Chief Kane arguing in his office. 

“Why am I here, Marcus?” Abby snaps at him in a hushed tone. Clarke freezes before opening the door, staying right outside. She didn’t want to interrupt, but she was also too curious to walk away. 

“Because you’re a world-renowned plastic surgeon, and I have a fresh crop of interns who would love to hear you speak. One of whom is your daughter.” Kane replies in a calm voice, sounding exasperated. 

“Exactly! My daughter. It’s been years since we’ve spoken, and you choose my daughter’s intern year to start dredging up the past.” 

The past? What on earth is she talking about? Clarke leans in closer to the crack in the door to hear better. 

“You are the one dredging up the past, Abby. Assuming there is some nefarious reasoning behind me inviting you out here to lecture. You’re the best at what you do, and I have a surgical residency program filled with doctors to teach. It’s as simple as that.” 

There’s a stretch of silence, and Clarke wished she could actually see what was going on in there. Clarke had assumed the Chief and her mother had been friends, but it sounds like they were anything but. 

“There is nothing simple about this, Marcus. One doesn’t simply ask their ex mistress to fly to the opposite side of the country to lecture a bunch of doctors on the finer points of burn protocol,” Abby hisses. 

Clarke doesn’t wait to hear Kane’s response before fleeing, walking at almost a jog down the hall and far away from that office. 

Ex mistress? Abby and Chief Kane had an affair when they were residents? Clarke could hardly wrap her mind around it. 

Her mother had already been married to Clarke’s father by the time she started residency. Her mother had cheated on her father — her wonderful, caring, dutiful father — with the Chief.   
She wonders if her dad had known. 

She needs to get out of the hospital. The hospital where her mother fucked another man while Jake Griffin was at home waiting for her. Suddenly, the walls are closing in and she has to get out. Clarke sees the stairwell that leads to the roof, and she dashes up the stairs. 

As soon as she opens the door, it’s like she can breathe again. 

It’s a dreary day outside, but Clarke doesn’t even care. A dark sky threatening to rain is better than being inside that building right now. She walks over to the railing, leaning against it to breathe. Then a cough shakes her out of her own thoughts, startling her. 

Dr. Bellamy Blake is sitting with his back against the wall around the corner from the door, eating an apple and reading a book. Great. Just what she needs. 

“If that’s all it takes to make you jump, I think you may be in the wrong profession,” his voice is lighter than usual, holding just an ounce of teasing. She doesn’t respond, simply turning back to the railing and running her hands through her hair. The last thing she was in the mood for was a sparring match with Dr. Blake. 

“Who pissed in your Cheerios this morning?” he asks, the same teasing tone lacing his voice. 

“Can we maybe not do this right now? I just needed some air and a place to escape my mother for a minute.” She says without looking back at him, trying not to sound terse with her boss. 

“Don’t tell me spending an afternoon with your mom is really that taxing, Princess.” She didn’t have to see his face to know there was an annoying smirk displayed across it. 

“You don’t know the first thing about it,” she shoots back. She hears the rustling of pages as he closes his book and soon he’s standing at the railing next to her. His presence is oddly warm beside her, and Clarke wishes his demeanor would match. 

“Then explain it to me,” he says simply, looking at her from under his tousled curls. 

“My mom and I have never had the best relationship,” Clarke starts with a sigh. Maybe sharing this with Dr. Blake could be a peace offering and the start of a better working relationship. “But having her here is just hard. She critiques everything and everyone, and nothing I do is ever good enough. And now…” she trails off. It isn’t really any of his businesses that her mother cheated on her father with their Chief of Surgery, and Clarke doesn’t really want to dig into it on the roof of the hospital with a resident she doesn’t even really like all that much. 

“Poor Princess,” he shakes his head at her. A cold smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Your mom flies across the country to see you and has the audacity to question your choices. Your life must be so hard,” he mumbles, eyes narrowed. 

“You know what, fuck you, Bellamy.” God, he was so infuriating. That’s not even why she was upset. Her mother’s constant criticism she could handle, but she just wanted a few minutes to herself to process what she’d just learned about her mom and Chief Kane. 

“That’s Dr. Blake to you,” he snaps. 

“Inside those hospital walls, yes. But out here? You’re just an ass who doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” Not entirely of her own accord, she found herself stepped closer to him with her shoulders back and chin raised in defiance. “You don’t know a thing about my life or my mother. And you know what? I don’t owe you any explanation. I just came up here to clear my head and get some air, not be judged by my chief resident.” 

Clarke stared at him unblinking, unwilling to be the first to break eye contact. After a few moments, he blinked and looked away. Clarke huffed before marching back to the door. With her hand on the handle, she turned. 

“Oh, and my name is Clarke or Dr. Griffin. I’m nobody’s Princess.” 

*** 

Clarke was in a foul mood for the rest of the evening, tactfully avoiding her mother, Dr. Blake and Chief Kane as much as possible. To Dr. Blake’s credit, he also seemed to be avoiding her. Maybe he had the sense to feel guilty for his behavior on the roof. It was entirely uncalled for, especially considering he was supposed to be a superior and mentor figure. 

Her mother is harder to keep at bay. They were supposed to grab dinner, but Clarke told her she had to stay at the hospital late to run some patient labs. Abby tried to protest, but Clarke reminded her that doing the extra work would look good to attendings and that seemed to placate her. 

After hiding out in the intern locker room for a while, Harper and Monty had dragged her to The Dropship across the street for drinks. 

“Get my girl two shots of tequila, Murphy,” Harper ordered as soon as they all slid onto stools at the bar. Murphy owned the bar with his girlfriend Emori, and the interns were at The Dropship often enough to be on a first name basis. 

“Aye Aye, Cap,” Murphy smirks before grabbing shot glasses. “Rough day?” he eyes Clarke slouched on her stool. 

“Something like that,” she mutters back, downing the first shot of tequila with little fanfare. The alcohol burned going down and warmth settled into her belly. She took the second shot immediately. 

Monty just raised his eyebrows at her before ordering a beer for himself. 

“Is this the kind of thing you want to talk about or drink about?” he asks, though Clarke imagines he already knows the answer. Monty was pretty good at reading her moods. 

“The latter,” Clarke confirms. Monty looks at Murphy, who refills Clarke’s shot glasses without comment. 

After those two shots, Clarke is feeling much better overall. Harper plays one of their favorite songs on the old jukebox in the corner, and Clarke pulls her and Monty out onto the small dancefloor. 

“We gotta dance it out!” she exclaims. 

“Dance what out?” Monty asks, eyes filled with amusement at Clarke’s declaration. Clarke was generally the designated driver rather than the one downing shots, so this was not a sight they saw often. But after today, Clarke just needed to forget about her mother and Kane and Dr. Blake’s hurtful words. 

“Everything. Gotta dance it out to get rid of this horrible day.” As she says it, Clarke recognizes that she is not making a whole lot of sense. She just knows that the only way she is going to survive this night is by drinking and dancing to her favorite song with her friends. 

Halfway through the next song, Finn walks in. He spots the group immediately and makes his way over. 

“Finn!” Clarke exclaims. “We’re dancing it out. Grab a drink and join us!” Finn’s eyes go a little wide at her enthusiasm, his gaze quickly glancing over to Harper. 

“Bad day. We’re drinking and dancing to make up for it,” she explains, shimmying to the music with a glass in her hand. 

Finn just smiles and joins in, not even needing a drink to loosen up and enjoy the music. He takes Clarke’s hand and spins her effortlessly. 

“I envy you sometimes,” she says with a smile, eyeing him as they dance close. 

He raises an eyebrow at her. A teasing smile is pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Oh really?”

She didn’t really meant to say it out loud, but she’s too many shots in to have much of her normal filter in place. 

“Yes. You’re so… carefree. Go with the flow. I, on the other hand, have no chill.” He laughs out loud at that, his head tilted back towards the ceiling. 

“I seem to remember you having some chill,” he teases. The look in his eyes is flirtatious, and Clarke allows herself to revel in it. It wasn’t against the rules to date coworkers and having someone like him in her life could be good for her. 

“I don’t know if I’d call that ‘chill’ or not,” she winks at him, still shimmying to the music. She swears his eyes darken at least two shades as he looks at her. 

She turns back to Harper, wrapping an arm around her waist while singing the lyrics of the final chorus. She can almost forget why she’s angry, here with her friends yelling the lyrics to old classics as they dance on the smallest dancefloor in Arkadia. 

Screw her mom and Chief Kane. And screw Bellamy Blake. Clarke was young and tipsy and carefree, at least for tonight. 

As the song ends, Clarke catches Finn’s eyes. In a moment of impulsiveness, she grabs his hand and leans in close. “Let’s get out of here.” 

They grab their things and say goodbye to their friends, and Clarke wills herself not to think about what she heard in Kane’s office or the way Dr. Blake’s voice sounded when he called her “Princess.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! We're getting into some Finn-Clarke stuff, but I'll remind y'all again that this is definitely still a #Bellarke fic. Just on some slow burn angst right now. 
> 
> Please let me know what you think with comments and kudos! Y'all are the best. <3


	4. Into the Fire Pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ***Warning***  
> This chapter contains material concerning a school shooting. There are no overly graphic depictions of the shooting itself (mainly the aftermath), but it could still be triggering to some. There is also mention and brief discussion of mental illness. Please use caution before reading this chapter if you think it could cause you anxiety or distress. 
> 
> Clarke works a weekend shift, hoping to get in some extra practice and studying away from the constant presence of Dr. Blake. But things never work out the way she plans, and instead she spends her shift on a harrowing trauma call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was hard to write, which is one of the reasons why it took me so long to update. My day job is writing, so writing all day and then coming home to write at night about emotional and traumatic experiences can sometimes be too exhausting. 
> 
> But I hope that you like the chapter, and I really hope to get onto a more regular posting schedule. I've been absolutely overwhelmed at the support and positive response to this fic so far, and I am so excited to continue on this journey with you all! As always, please remember that I am not a doctor and therefore you'll have to suspend your belief a little when I write about medical procedures and protocol.

After Clarke’s mom leaves, things settled into a relaxed routine at Arkadia Memorial. The holiday season came and went (Clarke avoided going home by taking on holiday shifts at the hospital to “help endear her to attendings”, as she’d explained to Abby) with little fanfare. Spring was in full swing in Arkadia. 

Work was stressful and shifts were long, but intern year was almost over. In all the months since that conversation on the roof, Dr. Blake and Clarke had yet to bring up their harsh words to each other. Clarke was glad for it. They still argued about pretty much everything, but that somehow settled into a routine, too. If Clarke was really honest with herself, their banter back and forth on shifts was sometimes the only thing she had to look forward to at the hospital. 

Well, that and her trysts with Finn. 

After that night at The Dropship, they decided to give dating a shot. It wasn’t super serious, but Finn did stay over at the house frequently. Harper, Jasper, and Monty all liked him, so they didn’t mind having him around. And it was nice to be able to come home to someone after a long shift. Someone who understood the job, someone who could help her study, someone who could keep her mind off of the hard days and tough outcomes. 

With the intern exam coming up around the corner, the interns had all been studying every spare minute of the day. Clarke felt prepared, but she kept her flashcards in her pocket at all times anyway, always quizzing herself or having someone else quiz her when there was a lull. 

Overall, things were looking up. 

“How’s my favorite surgical intern this morning?” Jasper tugged on the french braid that fell down the center of her neck playfully as he dropped a to-go cup of coffee in front of her. She had volunteered to take a Saturday shift in the ER, a decision she was starting to regret. Oh, how she wishes she could still be asleep in her bed. 

“Don’t let Monty hear you say that,” she teases back, taking a sip of the coffee and sighing in relief. 

“I know I’m here because I have to be. But why, pray tell, are you here instead of getting your freak on with Finn back at your place?” Jasper raises his eyebrows at her, but she just rolls her eyes. 

“Extra shifts mean more practice before the intern exam, and it’s a full day of reporting to a resident who isn’t Dr. Bellamy Blake,” she explains, taking another sip of her coffee. 

Jasper gave her a nervous look. “I hate to break it to you, but…” 

Before he could finish his sentence, Dr. Blake appeared next to them. “Well if it isn’t our lucky day, Jas. Princess has decided to join us for a weekend shift.” There’s a smug smile on his face and his voice is dripping with sarcasm. She swore he actually got a kick out of pushing every last one of her buttons. 

Clarke groans internally at her bad luck, hiding her frown around another sip of coffee. She gives Jasper a scathing look, but he just put his hands up in surrender. 

“I tried to warn you,” he smiles as he backs away from the nurse's station. “Bellamy,” he gives a fake salute to Dr. Blake before dashing off to check on a patient. 

“Do a quick round on beds and then start on paperwork. If there’s an incoming trauma, I’ll page you,” Bellamy says to Clarke, once again serious. She nods, grabbing a tablet from behind the counter. As she’s walking past him, he puts a hand out to stop her. Clarke willfully ignores the minuscule jolt that runs up her arm at the contact. 

She raises her eyebrows in question, meeting his narrowed eyes. “No heroics today, Princess. I don’t have the time or the staff to micromanage you.” She narrows her eyes back at him but says nothing. 

Instead, she starts to do rounds. It’s a quiet day in the ER. Clarke hopes it stays that way so she can get some studying in later. 

Of course, Clarke has never been that lucky. 

She’s about halfway through her shift when the woman in bed eight raised her hand to point at the television hanging down from the corner of the ER. “Somebody turn up the volume!” 

Her tone, frantic and concerned, shook Clarke out of her concentration over her study materials. Giving Jasper a quick nod, he grabbed the remote to turn the TV off mute. It was the local news. A young man looked into the camera gravely, a hand up to his ear as if getting information fed to him via earpiece. 

“We are just getting reports that there is an active shooter situation at Ark Tech Community College. Local PD and first responders are on-site, and there are already two confirmed casualties. We have no information about the shooter or how many potential victims are inside. We will keep you updated as we know more.” 

A dread-filled silence falls over the ER, and Clarke is almost frozen in place. A school shooting? Yeah, you see stuff on the national news about this happening all the time. Mass shootings in America are far from uncommon. But to Clarke’s knowledge, Arkadia has never had an active shooter at an area school, despite the growing city’s size. 

Dr. Blake strides into the room, a go-bag over his shoulder and a field jacket on over his scrubs. 

“They need more first responders on the scene of a shooting at Ark Tech and they called us. Dr. Griffin, grab a bag and jacket and let’s go. Aid car is 2 minutes out to pick us up. Jas, you’re in charge while I’m gone.” 

For a split second, Clarke can’t move or speak. Still staring at the television screen, though Jasper has already turned it back on mute. It’s Dr. Blake’s gruff voice that pulls her out of it. 

“You’ll do more good in the field than standing there slack-jawed, Princess. _ Let’s go! _ ” Clarke’s body spurs into motion then, and she runs to grab a bag, pack all the necessary field triage supplies she may need, and head back to the med bay doors in record time. 

“Jas, you’re in charge of the pit until Miller gets here!” Dr. Blake yells as him and Clarke head out the doors. 

The ride there is silent, with Dr. Blake staring straight ahead in the back of the aid car. This is Clarke’s first field trauma, and the interns hadn’t even taken their triage certification. That was normally done in your second year of residency. 

She does the box breathing technique, something her dad had taught her long ago. In, two, three four. Hold, two, three, four. Out, two three four. Hold, two, three, four. Every time she went into a stressful situation, this is how she prepared herself. From things as small as final exams to things as large as her father’s funeral. 

When they pull up, Dr. Blake doesn’t open the doors immediately. Instead, he turns to Clarke. She’s about to make a comment about how he can save the heroics speech, but the look in his eyes stops her. 

For what could have only been a few seconds but felt like an eternity, his dark eyes bear into hers, almost like he’s looking for something. Some sign that she’s not ready or some hidden truth that he needs to know before letting her jump out of the back of the aid car. 

“Be safe out there today.” 

There is no teasing in his tone and no smirk on his lips. Clarke only has a chance to briefly nod before he gets up and opens the door. 

The scene in front of them is chaotic to say the least. Cop cars, ambulances, and fire trucks are lined up in the south parking lot of the Ark Tech campus. There is a triage area set up where a few victims are being treated, none serious-looking, but there aren’t nearly as many as Clarke had assumed. 

As she takes in the rest of the parking lot and how other first responders are standing around at the edge of the yellow taped area, the truth dawns on her. 

Any other victims are still within campus. 

There is a tent set up that looks to be where the police have set up comms headquarters. Clarke follows Dr. Blake over. 

“You’ve got two doctors from Arkadia Memorial as first responder support,” he tells an older man who Clarke assumes must be in charge. Dr. Blake and him seem to recognize each other. “Where do you need us.” 

“Right now, I need you guys to stay behind the yellow tape. We haven’t caught the shooter, yet. And while we know there are casualties, my men are still combing the area. We can’t risk you two going in until we’ve at least located the gunman.” 

As if on cue, shots ring out from what sounds like the other side of campus, and everyone within the tent flinches at the sound. 

“What if the victims need urgent medical care?” Clarke pipes up, unable to help herself. To his credit, Dr. Blake doesn’t chastise her for asking the question. 

“Agreed. Surely by now your men have covered at least part of the school grounds and have a safe zone. If there are gunshot victims, we need to treat them fast.” 

“I can’t have two untrained civilians running into danger. Believe me, I want every victim treated as soon as possible. But right now, we just have to wait. It’s protocol, Dr. Blake,” the policeman gives her chief resident a pointed look when he looks like he’s about to say something else. 

Clarke wonders to herself why they wanted medical out here if they weren’t going to let them go in to treat anybody. But Dr. Blake doesn’t seem inclined to argue a second time, so she tries to quell her anxiety about standing still. They’ll be able to help soon. 

They continue to hover around the comms tent, waiting for the go-ahead. After five or ten minutes, static starts to crackle through the policeman’s walkie. 

“Sir, we’ve got an injured young woman here. GSW to the abdomen. She needs medical attention and fast or she’s going to bleed out.” The voice crackles through the radio, obviously strained. 

“Have we isolated the gunman’s location?” the man on this end of the radio asks. 

“No, sir. They are still at large. But one of the guys thinks he saw him and that the gunman may be injured.” The policeman, Clarke still hadn’t caught his name, didn’t say anything or give any indication that he would give first responders his blessing to go in. 

_Fuck it_ , she thinks to herself before ducking under the tape and running towards the buildings on campus. 

“Hey, get back here!” she could hear the man yelling, but she didn’t turn around. Dr. Blake could yell at her later, but she wasn’t technically violating hospital protocol, she didn’t think. 

“Clarke! Clarke!” she hears Dr. Blake catching up to her in quick strides, grabbing her arm to yank her to a stop. “You are not going in there untrained and unarmed when there’s a lunatic with a gun on the loose.” he chides her sternly. 

She stares up at him, defiant. “You heard the guy over the radio. And you can’t tell me she’s the only victim. You don’t honestly think I’m going to stand there behind the yellow tape when I could be helping.” 

“Brave Princess,” he mocks her. “This is not the time for your sense of self-righteousness.” 

“Jesus Christ, this is about saving lives. Get over yourself. Stay behind the yellow tape if you want, but I am going… and you can’t stop me.” 

He looks torn between wanting to agree with her and wanting to drag her back to the comms tent. After a beat of their eyes never leaving each other, his eyebrows furrowed in thought and her eyes narrowed in determination, he breaks. 

“Fine, but I’m going with you. And so is this,” he holds up a walkie that looks like the ones from the comm tent. 

Together, they make their way through the small campus. Ark Tech was a small community college on the edge of the city, the cluster of old brick buildings taking up about eight blocks in total. There is an eerie silence cast over the campus as they walk along the outskirts. 

Clarke can picture it bustling with life, students going to classes and studying on the lawn. Despite being a small school, it’s a picturesque campus. Her heart aches at how this beautiful place built to provide a future for kids has now turned into a nightmare that has likely taken the future away from some victims. 

“Give us the location of the injured woman,” Dr. Blake barks into the walkie. 

“I still don’t approve of this, Bellamy,” the voice of the policeman at the tent crackles back through. 

“Noted, Sullivan. Location?” 

“Third floor of the library.” 

Bellamy and Clarke locked eyes over the radio between them for only a split second before silently agreeing. They head toward the library. Every time they come upon a corner, Dr. Blake holds Clarke back by the wrist, peeking around it himself before they both round. It’s a side of him Clarke is not used to seeing, him being protective. Especially of her. 

Then again, she figures they haven’t been put in a situation where anyone would really need protection. 

As they approach the library, he lifts a finger to his mouth to indicate that they need to be quiet. He then whispers, “Stay behind me until we know the coast is clear.” She fights the urge to roll her eyes at him. She’s not sure an unarmed Dr. Bellamy Blake would be much use against a gun firing in their direction, but she lets him go in first sensing it was this or he wouldn’t let her go in at all. 

They creep silently through the bookshelves, staying on the outer edges of the room until they get to the stairs. They crack open the door slowly, and Clarke silently thanks the universe that the door doesn’t creak. So far, the library seems silent, which would hopefully mean the coast is clear, but the danger is not entirely lost on Clarke. 

They see the police officer leaned over a young woman, probably only 18 or 19 from first glance, as soon as they open the door to the third floor. He has her propped up against his lap, his hand trying and failing at tamponading the bleeding at her lower left abdomen. 

Dr. Blake immediately stoops down next to the victim, pulling out gauze and a stitching kit from his bag. Clarke drops down to the other side of the woman. 

“I haven’t been able to stop the bleeding. There’s just so much blood... “ the officer, obviously young, sounded distraught. Bellamy covers the man’s hands with his own. 

“You did good, okay? You did good, Officer…?” looks at him, questioning. 

“Tracey. Sterling Tracey,” he stutters out. 

“Okay, Sterling. I’m Bellamy and this is Clarke,” he nods across to where Clarke is staring worryingly at the amount of blood coming from beneath their hands. “I’m going to replace your hands with mine, okay? So on the count of three, you’re going to move your hands, alright? I’ve got her, don’t worry.” His voice is calm and soothing. Clarke finds herself even relaxing a little as he comforts Sterling. 

Sterling just nods. 

“One...two...three.” He moves his fingers under Sterling’s, pressing firmly on the wound. “Good, okay. Dr. Griffin, I need you to get me gauze and gloves.” 

Clarke hands over what he asked for wordlessly. He presses the gauze firmly on the wound, but it does little to stop the flow of blood. 

“We need to get her to the hospital. This much bleeding means there has to be an internal bleed somewhere,” Clarke mutters, more to herself than anyone else. 

“I don’t think a hospital is an option right now,” Bellamy bites at her under his breath, the comforting tone from just a moment ago already gone. “More gauze. And see if there’s a portable cauterizer in one of our bags. Maybe we could use that to stop the bleeding. At least temporarily. Or maybe we could…” he trails off, already out of ideas. Truth be told, their options were limited. If there was internal bleeding, which at this point was more likely than not, then the only thing that could save her is a blood transfusion and surgery. 

Clarke looks at the woman’s face, resting peacefully against Sterling’s thigh. She reaches up to check the woman’s pulse, only to find it waning. 

“Dr. Blake…” Clarke says slowly. His eyes flick up to where her fingers are at the victim’s pulse point. 

“Okay, take over for me while I get started on CPR.” He gets up on his knees, getting ready to start chest compressions. But Clarke knows it’s too late for that. 

“Dr. Blake. She’s lost too much blood.” His eyes shoot up to meet hers, and for the first time since Clarke has met him, she realizes he’s scared. 

“So you want to just, what? Let her die?!” he moves the woman to lie flat on the floor, pressing on her chest. 

“There’s nothing we can do for her at this point. Not without a hospital and surgical team,” she tries to match the soothing voice he used earlier, but she’s not sure if she was successful. 

Clarke puts a hand over Dr. Blake’s, prompting him to meet her eyes. They stare at each other for a moment, almost like they’re having a silent conversation. At last, his arms relax and he sits back on his heels. 

She lets out a breath she wasn’t aware she’d been holding and gingerly moves the woman to lay with her propped back up against Sterling. 

Stroking her brunette hair, Clarke leans in to whisper, “It’s okay. We’ve got you. It’s alright.” 

She starts to hum a lullaby her dad used to sing whenever she would wake up from a nightmare. She can’t quite remember the lyrics, but she knows the melody. 

After another few moments, Clarke checks her pulse again. She’s gone. 

A lone tear falls from Clarke’s eye as she lays the young woman back down on the ground. She looks peaceful, at rest. 

“Mebi oso na hit choda op nodotaim,” Clarke whispers. 

When she looks up again, Dr. Blake is looking at her curiously. 

“Indra says it any time she loses a patient. Seemed appropriate,” she shrugs. 

“Yeah, it’s a Trigedasleng saying from one of the villages she practiced with before coming to Arkadia. Directly translated to English, it means ‘may we meet again.” Clarke smiled softly at that. She liked that, the idea that Indra was wishing them well on a journey rather than saying a permanent goodbye. 

“We should get moving. Boss won’t want us to linger longer than necessary when there’s still a gunman on the loose,” Sterling breaks the moment. He’d been so quiet that Clarke had almost forgotten he was there. 

Sterling radios to Sullivan that they are headed back toward the tent and they gather up their things.

“Are we just supposed to leave her here?” Clarke asks. 

“We have to, for now. Once we get the all-clear, we’ll work with first responders to identify all casualties and contact families,” Sterlings seems equally hesitant to leave. 

A hush falls over the three as soon as they’re back in the stairwell. They quietly make their way down, but Clarke suddenly stops. 

“Do you hear that?” she whispers. They all cock their heads to listen, and sure enough. There’s a quiet groaning coming from floors above them. 

Sterling immediately unholsters his gun and puts a finger to his face. The group turns around and they make their way back up the stairs. 

They find him on the 5th-floor landing. It’s a teenager who can’t be more than 17 years old curled up on his side on the ground. Clarke immediately rushes to him. 

“Hey, hey. We’ve got you. We’re doctors. Can you let me see?” she tries to rearrange him to lie flat on his back. 

He’s in a deep green tshirt, a red stain on his upper right abdomen. Clarke presses her hands on the bleeding and the kid cries out in pain. 

“Blake, get me 10 mLs of morphine from my bag.” Without waiting to see if he does it, she turns back to the kid. “Do you know if you’re allergic to any medications? I have something for the pain, but I need to know if you’re allergic.” 

He just shakes his head no. When Clarke turns back around, Dr. Blake is beside her, measuring out 10 mLs into a syringe. He administers the pain meds and they watch as some of the tension leaves the teen’s face. 

“Okay, that’s better. I’m Clarke, this is Bellamy and Sterling. We’re here to help, okay?” 

She feels around his wound tenderly, trying to assess the damage. He seems to be clotting okay, but the location of the gunshot is concerning. 

“How long have you been here?” she asks gently. 

“Not long. Maybe 15 minutes?” Clarke looks up at Sterling and Dr. Blake. So that means the gunman was here 15 minutes ago. Suddenly, it’s like there’s another clock counting down. The last thing they need is a shootout in a stairwell if the gunman decides to loop back. 

She continues assessing the wound to distract herself from the potential danger. 

“Does it hurt anywhere other than where you’ve been shot?” 

“Uh, my left shoulder. But mostly just where you’re pressing.” 

“Clarke, look at his eyes.” They are clouded over and staring off as if the world is a bit off-focus. 

“Hey, stay awake. I know you’re tired, but you have to stay awake for me, okay? Keep talking. What are you studying in school?” 

“Everything is spinning a little, doc… I don’t feel so good.” His voice sounds a bit woozy, and Clarke and Bellamy once again lock eyes in silent conversation. 

“Spleen.” They both say at the same time. 

Sterling’s radio crackles to life, and he ducks around the corner to talk to Sullivan. 

“If that bullet pierced his spleen, we’ve got to take it out. Otherwise, he’ll bleed out.”    
  


“We can’t do a splenectomy in a stairwell, Clarke!” Dr. Blake snaps at her. 

“Is that or let him die, Bellamy!” she responds in kind. 

“I don’t want to die,” the kid says weakly. Clarke gives him a sympathetic look and pats his arm. 

“Nobody is dying in this stairwell, you hear me?” 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he mumbles, starting to drift off. Clarke curses under her breath. 

“It’s now or never. Are you going to help me with my first splenectomy or just bark at me?” 

She’s seen her mother do an emergency splenectomy before, and she knows the laparoscopic procedure well enough from watching Indra in the OR. With Dr. Blake’s help, she could do this. 

“Fine, but only because I don’t want you to kill him,” he grumbles before digging into the bag. 

They both done gloves and set up a makeshift instrument tray. Clarke cuts the kid’s shirt off, and Dr. Blake pours betadine around the wound. She grabs a 10-blade, takes a deep breath, and cuts. 

Dr. Blake has a portable cauterizer out and takes care of bleeders. They don’t have suction, which makes everything a little complicated, but they make do. Once she gets to the spleen, she feels around for the bullet wound. 

“Found it. It’s lodged right in the red pulp of the spleen. Kid’s lucky he didn’t get hit 3 inches to the left or it would have hit his stomach,” she muses to herself, wincing as she continues to feel around for any other damage to surrounding organs. 

Sterling comes back around the corner, panic in his eyes. 

“They found more students in the science building right across the courtyard from here. Sullivan says one of our guys fired a round into the shooter and hit him in the abdomen before he ducked into the library.” Sterling paused. “According to Mitchel, the guy who shot him, he was wearing a green tshirt.” 

Clarke looks down at the teenager whose abdomen is filled with her hands. 

_ “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” _ he’d said right before passing out. Clarke had assumed he’d been talking about being sorry he couldn’t stay awake like she told him to, but… 

“He’s the shooter,” Dr. Blake says. It’s a statement, not a question. And Clarke watches as his eyes go cold in an instant. “Clarke, take your hands out of his abdomen and step away from him.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous. If I don’t finish this, he’ll die!” she argues back, not moving a muscle. 

“He’s the one who’s killed all these students. All of these kids! The last thing he deserves is to be saved when we couldn’t save the girl on the 3rd floor or any of the rest of them,” his voice is seething more hate and anger than Clarke had ever heard come out of his mouth. And considering their strained professional relationship, that was saying something. 

“He’s a patient, and I’m not letting him die,” she says calmly. 

“I am your chief resident, and I am telling you to step away from the shooter, Dr. Griffin.” 

She takes a deep breath, continuing to work on the teen lying on the floor. Regardless of what he’d done, she wasn’t going to let someone die if she could do something to stop it. 

“Maybe you’re right and he doesn’t deserve to be saved,” she doesn’t look up at him when she speaks. “Maybe he’s the bad guy and maybe he’s a horrible person and maybe he should be left here to die alone.” 

She finally looks up at Dr. Blake, her eyes filled with enough fire to match the ice in his stare.

“But we’re doctors, and that’s not our call to make. We fix who we can fix, regardless of what they’ve done or who they are. That’s the job. That’s the protocol. Now, I need someone to help me remove this spleen so I can tie off his blood vessels. Can you do that?” 

He stands there, unwilling to budge. 

“Can. You. Do. That.” She enunciates every word, each a blow to his resolve to stand by and watch the teenager on the floor die. Finally, he silently moves to the opposite side of Clarke, kneeling on the ground. He refuses to look her in the eye, simply getting a needle and sutures ready to. 

He reaches in and cuts the spleen off from the stomach and pancreas, and Clarke gently removes the organ from the teen’s body. She quickly goes in with the sutures, feeling around for the vessels. She ties them off using the method her mother has been teaching her for as long as she can remember. 

Dr. Blake goes in behind her and cauterizes any lingering bleeders. The kid’s lost a lot of blood, but Clarke thinks he’ll pull through. What’s waiting for him when he does is another story entirely. 

They finish stitching him up, and Sterling calls in to Sullivan that they’ve caught the shooter. Clarke convinces Sterling not to cuff him. He’s out cold from shock, and he isn’t going to be able to put up a fight even if he does wake up. 

The rest of the afternoon goes by in a haze. First responders come and take the kid away. Clarke and Bellamy are yelled at by Sullivan for disobeying orders and going in without backup. Then they are released to treat the victims found, but there were only a few who made it out alive. 

Students were beginning to emerge from their hiding places, making their way to the tents. Some had friends or even family members who were victims. Clarke’s heart broke even more at every single body she had to cover in a tarp. 

Eventually, Chief Kane showed up. Sullivan had called him, and he’d rushed to the scene to help with triage as soon as he could. Clarke tried her best to avoid him, only speaking to him when absolutely necessary. If he noticed, he didn’t comment. 

Patients were rushed to the hospital and search and rescue combed over campus to look for more victims. The sun was starting to set, and Kane sent Clarke and Bellamy back to the hospital. They didn’t argue, both covered in blood and reeling from the day’s events. 

Neither one of them so much as look at the other as they ride back to the hospital. 

Once back, Clarke heads straight to the locker rooms to shower and change. Her shift technically ended over an hour ago, and she wants nothing more than to rid herself of her blood-stained scrubs. 

She stands under the hot spray of water for longer than necessary, letting herself really cry for the first time that day. Sobs wrack her body as she remembers the lack of pulse under her fingers when that first woman in the library died. As flashes of faces, both young students and a few older professors, flood her mind. Images of the people she couldn’t save contrasted with the face of the teenager she did save. 

Clarke didn’t regret her choice. She didn’t regret finishing the splenectomy and she didn’t regret convincing Dr. Blake to help her. She didn’t regret saving his life. But suddenly it was dawning on her that while she was saving the shooter’s life, one of his victims was likely dying in another room. 

When the shower starts to run cold and her eyes seem to be finished crying, she dries herself off and changes back into her normal clothes. She almost jumps out of her skin when she opens the door to find Dr. Blake sitting in the hallway outside the locker room door. He scrambled up when he saw her. 

“I just…” he trailed off, apparently unsure about how to continue. She waited patiently for him to find the words. 

“Sullivan called.” Oh, so that’s what this is about. 

“If you’ve come to tell me I’m fired for disobeying Sullivan’s orders to stay behind the tape, can we wait to do it tomorrow?” she asks, her voice sounding tired and dejected even to her own ears. 

“What? No, that’s not… he didn’t….shit,” he sighs, once again sliding down the wall. 

Clarke came to sit down next to him, pulling her legs up so she could rest her cheek against her knees. She looked at him, studying the worried crinkle at the edge of his eyes and the way his eyes darted back and forth in front of him as if he were arguing with himself about something. 

“He was diagnosed with schizoaffective disorder, the shooter,” his voice was quiet, quieter than Clarke had ever heard it. “He was having a manic episode and thought people were attacking him. He needed help, and I just… I wanted to…” he couldn’t finish his sentence. 

Clarke turns sideways, putting her hand on his knee. He looks at her then, his deep brown eyes showing the cracks in his normal bravado. 

“I wanted to let him die, Clarke. I wanted to leave him there to bleed out all over that stairwell just like we watched that woman bleed out on the 3rd floor. What kind of monster does that make me?” his voice breaks on the word ‘monster.’ 

“It makes you human. How were you supposed to know that he has schizoaffective disorder? By the time we got to him, he wasn’t in the middle of an episode. He was lucid and present,” she asks gently, her thumb rubbing small circles against his kneecap.

“Apparently you did,” he retorts. “You refused to let us leave him.” 

“Not because I intrinsically knew that he was suffering from a mental disorder. And I, unknowing of his condition, saved a killer when I could have been saving someone entirely innocent. What kind of monster does that make me?” 

When he doesn’t say anything, she continues. 

“The world isn’t black and white, Bellamy. He killed almost a dozen innocent people today, and the fact that he didn’t entirely realize what he was doing doesn’t change that. You’re not a monster for being angry that someone could do that, regardless of the circumstances in which he did it.” 

“I’m a doctor. We’re supposed to be the good guys.” 

Clarke sits there for a long moment, her eyes studying Dr. Blake. She could see the emotions warring on his face. She’s conflicted herself on how to feel. One one hand, he’s right. Someone in the midst of a schizoaffective delusion can’t control their actions or their surroundings, and had he been the only one there, he’d have let a teenager with a mental illness die. He wasn’t a victim in the same sense as the people he had killed, but he wasn’t any more of a monster than Bellamy was for being angry at the thought of him living when those he shot wouldn’t. 

At the same time, though, he was still responsible for the deaths of eleven people. And Clake fought to save his life even when she thought he was just another cold-blooded killer, just like the majority of the people who commit such horrid crimes like this. Surely her willingness to save him makes her just as broken inside as the rest of them. 

She finally sighs, spinning back to sit next to him slumped against the wall. After another moment, she lets her head lull against his shoulder. 

“Maybe there are no good guys,” she whispers. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, kudos and comments are appreciated! Come hang out with me on my tumblr: @changingthefairy-tale


	5. Into the Fire Pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hey, you may be a total ass half the time, but you’re a damn good doctor. You want forgiveness? Fine, I’ll give that to you. You’re forgiven. But you can’t just hide behind a rulebook to avoid making the hard calls. If there’s one thing I’ve learned watching my mother my entire life, it’s that sometimes using your head means ignoring protocol… or at the very least bending it a little.” 
> 
> Clarke can tell that he wants to say something back, though she can’t tell what. After a beat, he gives her a small smirk instead. 
> 
> “I think it’s time for a drink, Princess,” he says, pushing himself up against the wall to stand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been absolutely floored by the continued support and response from you guys! 
> 
> Here's the second half of the last chapter, with plenty of Bellarke interaction to help make up for the fact that I am the literal worst at updating on a schedule. ‾\\_(ツ)_/‾ Enjoy!

They sit there unmoving for a long time. They don’t speak, but it’s a different kind of silence than their normal refusal to acknowledge the other. There is no tension or unspoken words. It’s almost...comfortable. 

Every now and again, someone walks past. But if the sight of the two of them slumped over, Clarke’s temple resting against Dr. Blake’s shoulder, they didn’t comment. 

“You said something while we were arguing,” he says, his voice quiet, as if a little lost in thought. 

“We argue pretty much every time we speak. You’ll have to be a bit more specific,” she tries to joke, but it falls flat. He turns his head slightly to look at her, and she lifts her own to meet his eyes. 

“You said, ‘That’s the protocol.’ It’s what convinced me to stay and help.” 

“Why did that convince you?” she asks hesitantly, not understanding what he was getting at. 

He sighs, not responding at first. He’s giving her this look, like he wants to tell her something but isn’t sure if he actually will. 

“I wasn’t always like this,” he finally says. It doesn’t clear up her confusion at all, and it must show on her face because he cracks a whisper of a smile. “Oh, I know you all call me a hardass behind my back.” 

Clarke matches the look he’s giving her with a rueful smile of her own. “At the risk of breaking whatever weird truce we’re in right now… you are a bit of a hardass.” 

“I didn’t use to be,” he admits. He reaches up to run a hand through his mess of curls, and Clarke thinks it might be a nervous habit. She sees him do it a lot when he has to have hard conversations with patients. 

“You don’t have to tell me, Dr. Blake,” she says, ducking her head to try and meet his eye once again. “You don’t owe me an explanation.” 

“I want to,” he assures her. “It’s just… hard to talk about.” 

He’s quiet for another moment, and Clarke stays quiet while waiting for him to continue. 

“I was a very different doctor the first couple of years of my residency,” he starts. “I was… reckless. Controlled by my emotions and  _ always _ in breach of protocol. I didn’t go to a fancy school or have parents pioneering groundbreaking burn treatments,” he gives her a side-eye and Clarke rolls her eyes at him. “I wanted to make a name for myself, and I didn’t put much stock into the rules. Some attendings loved me for it, others hated me. But I performed well under pressure and had a pretty low mortality rate, so the hospital let it slide for the most part.” 

It’s surprisingly easy to imagine Dr. Blake as a spitfire resident, adopting a ‘whatever the hell I want’ attitude. Between the devil-may-care looks and his overall reputation as a womanizer, that version of Dr. Blake fit more in Clarke’s mind than the tense hardass who never strayed from the rules. 

“Why are you telling me this?” Clarke wonders. Up until about 30 minutes ago, they could hardly be in the same room without bickering about something, whether it was about how to go about treating a patient or the right way to fill out a chart or even the merits of cafeteria food versus the vending machines (Clarke grew up around hospital food, and the junk food in the vending machines wasn’t worth the cholesterol in her opinion). Why would he suddenly divulge information about his past? 

“I don’t know. Because for some reason beyond my control, I want you to respect me? Or at least maybe understand?” He pulls another hand through his hair, looking at her from underneath his locks before continuing. 

“Toward the end of my second year, I lost a patient. A little girl, actually. She was brought into the ER one night with horrible migraines. CT showed a small tumor and a cyst, the latter causing the pain. The tumor was ruled benign. Dr. Nyko, who was a fellow at the time, let me scrub in to assist with the drain. He had decided to leave in the tumor since it wasn’t causing any damage. 

“About halfway through the procedure, he was called out on an emergency consult. I volunteered to take over. Everything was fine until I noticed a little bleeding. I enlarged the craniotomy to take care of it, and that’s when I saw the tumor. It was so small with clear margins, and I just thought to myself, ‘If I remove this now, I’ll save her a surgery down the road while proving my abilities to Nyko.’ Without thinking twice, I just did it.” 

He takes a break then, his eyes staring intently at the same spot on the floor in front of him. 

“During the procedure, I must have damaged her cerebral cortex, which is still developing quite a bit when you’re that young. She never woke up.” 

“Oh, Bellamy. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know…” 

“You couldn’t have. Kane made me take leave and go through a very long probation period after that, but he never put it on my record. He said every doctor deserved a second chance, and that I’d just cashed mine in.” He gave a noncommittal shrug. “Nyko didn’t quite agree, which is why you’ll notice I almost never operate with him.” 

Clarke hadn’t ever thought about it, but looking back, Dr. Blake was very rarely in Dr. Nyko’s surgeries. 

“Her name was Charlotte,” he admitted, voice thick with emotion. “I visit her grave every year on the anniversary of her death. It reminds me what happens when I don’t use my head.” 

“Bellamy, there’s a difference between using your head and blindly following protocol,” Clarke says gingerly, not wanting to argue but unable to help herself. 

To her surprise, he doesn’t snap back at her. He gives her a thoughtful look, considering her words. “Maybe you’re right,” he admits. “But selfishly, this way I never have to lose a patient due to my misjudgment. After having to look Charlotte’s parents in the eyes and tell them that I killed their little girl… how was I supposed to ever trust my judgment again?” 

He looks at her then, his deep brown eyes filled with so much blame and self-hatred. It makes sense now, why he’s so adamant about sticking exactly to hospital rules and protocol. It’s why he always calls in senior attendings to make larger calls, even on obvious cases. Clarke’s heart breaks for him. 

“Hey, you may be a total ass half the time, but you’re a damn good doctor. You want forgiveness? Fine, I’ll give that to you. You’re forgiven. But you can’t just hide behind a rulebook to avoid making the hard calls. If there’s one thing I’ve learned watching my mother my entire life, it’s that sometimes using your head means ignoring protocol… or at the very least bending it a little.” 

Clarke can tell that he wants to say something back, though she can’t tell what. After a beat, he gives her a small smirk instead. 

“I think it’s time for a drink, Princess,” he says, pushing himself up against the wall to stand. As her eyes make their way up his body to reach his face, she notices what he’s wearing for the first time. He’s changed into jeans and a fitted back tshirt, a faded band logo plastered across the front. Scrubs leaves a lot to the imagination when it comes to physique, but his current ensemble showcases his broad shoulders, muscular chest and impressive biceps. He looks... _ good _ . Incredibly good. 

He’s got an eyebrow cocked and that stupid smirk on his face when she finally reaches his eyes, and she immediately looks away embarrassed. Warmth floods her cheeks.

“You’ve got to stop calling me that,” she mumbles, taking the hand he offers her to stand. His hand is warm, dwarfing her own, and she briefly wonders what it would be like to walk hand in hand across the street, fingers intertwined. 

_ Jesus, Griffin. Get it together,  _ she thinks to herself, immediately dispelling that thought from her brain. She reasons with herself that it’s the stress from the day combined with the shock of seeing him in something other than blue scrubs. 

They walk together across the street to The Dropship, and Clarke checks her phone to find a bunch of texts and missed calls. 

**_Harper:_ ** _ Clarke! The news has been covering the shooting!! Do y’all need extra hands at the hospital?  _

**_Finn:_ ** _ Hey, babe. Everything okay? Heard about the shooting…  _

**_Monty:_ ** _ The shooting looks serious. Hope everything is okay. Text when you get a free minute.  _

**_Wells:_ ** _ Harper and Monty are both a bit worried because you aren’t answering. I assume it’s because you’re busy saving lives or whatever, but shoot the group a text when you’re  _

**_Jasper:_ ** _ Collins & Monty called the hospital to check on u and i told them u went to DS with Blake so incoming  _ _ ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ _ __

She puts everyone in a group chat. 

**_The Delinquents_ **

**_Clarke:_ ** _ Hey hi hello I’m alive but in need of tequila. Come find me at DS! :)  _

She puts her phone away as they walk inside, sliding onto stools at the bar side by side. 

“Ah, finally doing something about that sexual tension, I see,” Murphy says by way of greeting. Clarke chokes, coughing to cover it up. Murphy just raises an eyebrow at her. 

Bellamy, on the other hand, just gives him a stern look. 

“What?” Murphy asks, raising his hands in defense. “The way you two talk about each other when the other isn’t here, there’s really only one explanation.” 

“Yeah, that he’s a pain in my ass,” Clarke grumbles, shooting what she hopes is a scathing glare across the bar at him. 

“Fine, I guess this means you  _ aren’t _ doing anything about that sexual tension. Which means you need a drink.” 

He fills a shot glass with tequila for Clarke and hands Bellamy a bottle of beer. She immediately knocks it back and gestures for another one. 

“Is it sad that we’re here so often that he knows our drink orders?” she asks, chuckling a little. 

“This asshole has been drinking the same beer for four years. It would be more sad if I didn’t know his drink,” Murphy smirks. 

“Wait, you’ve known each other for four years? Murphy, you said you’ve only had the bar for two.” She looks suspiciously between the two men. 

“Murphy was in my intern class,” Bellamy clarifies, and Clarke’s jaw drops. 

“John Murphy, M.D. at your service,” he gives a small salute with his signature smirk. Clarke is blown away. She can’t quite picture Murphy as a doctor, especially not a surgery resident. “Two years of that bullshit, and I realized that I was much happier behind the bar helping you losers get over a hard day than having the hard days myself,” he shrugs. 

“Aw, you want to make my bad days better, Murph? How thoughtful,” Clarke gives him a dramatic smile with a hand over her heart. He just rolls his eyes. 

Bellamy sits there watching the exchange, a weird expression on his face. Clarke notices. 

“Stop staring. You know, just because we don’t get along doesn’t mean I’m incapable of playing nice with others,” she chastises him, only half joking. 

His eyes widen a little like he’s been caught, but he quickly recovers, shaking his head. 

“You play nice? Maybe. Murphy? Never,” that annoyingly attractive smirk is once again tugging at his lips, and Clarke forces herself to look away. The tequila was making her think things she neither needed or wanted to dwell on, like how his lips dart out to wet his lips before taking a sip of his beer. Or how his eyes held a just a touch of mischief in them tonight that made Clarke nervous — for what she wasn’t sure. 

“You know you love me,” Murphy retorts, sashaying down to the other end of the bar to take care of other customers. 

Clarke is about to ask Bellamy for more information about Murphy as a surgical intern, but then the door opens and a group pours in. The other interns, save for Finn, Jasper, Dr. Miller and a young woman with dark hair Clarke doesn’t recognize all quickly surround them both at the bar, forcing them to turn away from each other. 

“Well, I bet today was not what you thought your Saturday shift would entail,” Harper jokes a little, but her smile is tense. 

“We’re glad you’re alright,” Monty translates for her, putting an arm around her shoulders. Clarke smiles back at her roommates. 

“Me, too,” is all she manages to respond. The truth is, she was never really in any danger. The day was hard and stressful and sad, but not because she ever really worried for her life. But she isn’t going to talk about that with her friends, not while they were all relieved to see her and ready to drink. 

Instead, she waves Murphy down to their end of the bar again for another drink. The chatter moves on to brighter topics, Jasper and Monty arguing about whether moonshine or tequila was faster at getting them drunk. Clarke listens in, amused at the two best friends adamantly defending their point of view, and a hand lands on her shoulder. 

She looks up from her stool to see Wells’ eyes on her, a knowing look on his face. They’ve known each other for so long, she knows he can tell that there’s something just a little subdued about her this evening. Something that she isn’t talking about. 

As usual, he doesn’t pry. He just stands next to her with a hand on her shoulder, a reassuring presence that tells her he’s there if she needs him. She leans into the contact a little, thankful for the friendship. 

Soon, Monty and Jasper are interrupted by the woman who had walked in with them. 

“Monty is right, Tequila is the clear winner. Now one of you get me a refill, pleaaasseeee,” her lips curl up in a smirk as she draws out the last word. Despite the fact that her voice was harsh, both young men smiled at her. Jasper gave her a peck on the cheek before going to grab her that refill. 

Clarke was about to introduce herself when the woman beat her to the chase. “So you’re the girl who’s been kicking Bell’s ass at work,” she narrows her eyes and appraises Clarke, who is stunned to silence with wide eyes. 

She must like what she sees because her serious face immediately transforms into a bright smile as she sticks out her hand. “Octavia Blake. You must be Clarke.” 

It’s at that moment that Clarke realizes this is Bellamy’s sister. Now that she really takes a good look at her, it’s impossible not to see the slight resemblance. The same dark hair, though Octavia’s is straight where Bellamy’s curls. But there’s also a similarity in how they carry themselves, that dangerous look they’ve both mastered so well and the half smirk that plays on their faces. 

Clarke meets her in the middle of their circle, shaking her hand. “Dr. Blake’s sister. It’s nice to meet you.” 

“Likewise. I gotta be honest with you, though. You are not what I pictured.” 

“Oh?” she lifts her eyebrows, turning briefly to look at Bellamy, who is engrossed in a conversation with Dr. Miller. 

“The way my brother talks about you, I was expecting someone…” she gives her a once-over. “Taller.” 

Clarke can’t contain the bubble of laughter that escapes her. She can only imagine what Octavia’s brother has told her. 

Jasper returns with a drink for Octavia, and she beams up at him. “You’re the best, Jas.” Clarke doesn’t miss his deep blush at her words. 

The group once again falls into easy conversation, and Clarke is surprised to find that she rather adores Octavia. She’s a firefighter at Station 19, the youngest woman to ever make lieutenant. She’s fierce and loud and unapologetically herself throughout the evening, and Clarke can’t help but be a little drawn to her. 

They hit it off, exchanging numbers and promising to see a movie on their next day off. She gives everyone in the group a round of hugs before sauntering out of the bar. After she leaves, Bellamy appears at her side. 

“It seems you hit it off with my sister,” his gruff voice pulling her attention. When she looked at him, he was scowling. 

“Does that make you nervous?” she asks, leaning in, the alcohol in her system making her brazen enough to tease him a little. 

His face softens a little at that, and she smirks up at him. 

“Very,” he admits, and she laughs. 

“You seem close.”    
  
“We are. I, uh… I sort of helped raise her. After our mom died when I was in college. She was only 13, and I didn’t want her to go into the system.” Clarke is shocked, both at the information itself and at the fact that he is willing to share it with her. Maybe the alcohol was making him a little brazen as well. 

He lifts his hands through his curls in that nervous habit. She’s about to ask him more about it when suddenly an arm from behind wraps around her shoulders and pulls her backwards into a firm chest. 

“Sorry I couldn’t make it sooner,” Finn whispers in her ear. “Hey, Dr. Blake,” he greets Bellamy as if the situation was totally natural. Which, she guesses it really kind of was natural. They’re all coworkers, though Bellamy is technically their boss. But Clarke has the distinct impression that she’s been caught, though doing what she’s unsure. 

Bellamy just looks between the two, Finn’s arm still secured across her collarbone. She fought the urge to step out of his embrace the longer Bellamy’s eyes studied them. 

“Collins,” he finally gave one of those weird nods men gave each other in greeting. They make small talk for a minute or two before Bellamy excuses himself to go play darts. 

“Finally making friends with the boss, I see,” Finn comments once he leaves. They’ve turned back toward the rest of their friends, rejoining the circle still standing near the bar. 

“I guess,” she shrugs, not wanting to talk about it. After the day they’d had together, Clarke and Bellamy were definitely teetering on the edge of something more than just hostile coworkers. But “finally making friends with the boss” didn’t really seem to fit, either. 

“I’m really glad you were okay today.” She meets his eyes then, and she can see the sincerity in them. Clarke can’t help but smile at him, leaning into his side. 

“Thanks. It was a stressful day, but I’m alright.” His arm wraps around her, settling lightly on her hip. She can feel his lips give her a light kiss at her hairline. 

They stay at the bar for just a little longer before heading back to his apartment. As they say their goodbyes, her anchored into his side, she lets her eyes wander to the back of the bar where Bellamy is still playing darts with Dr. Miller. 

As if he can sense her staring, he looks up to meet her gaze. A small smile plays at his lips, and he gives her the smallest nod from across the room before turning back to throw the dart in his hand. 

“Ready to go?” Finn asks, his voice pulling her back to where they stood in a circle with their friends. 

She gives him a reassuring smile. “Let’s get out of here.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND SO IT BEGINS 
> 
> P.S. I'm aware that I suck at updating, and I promise I'm working on it.
> 
> P.S.S. Thank you guys for being the absolute best. As always, kudos and comments are loved and appreciated. <3 Come hang out with me on Tumblr @changingthefairy-tale!


	6. Save me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The more time Clarke spent with Bellamy, either alone or in their now combined group of friends, she could feel herself being more and more drawn to him. They just… clicked. And of course, his attractiveness wasn’t helping anything. 
> 
> Of course, nothing untoward was going on. Yes, Clarke found him attractive to a distracting degree. But that would pass. She’d been friends with plenty of gorgeous men and women before and had lived to tell the tale. She’d soon get used to him and his...well everything. At least, she hoped she did."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Be a writer for your day job, side gig, and evening hobby. You'll definitely be able to keep those two WIP fics updated on a regular schedule." - Said no one ever. 
> 
> BUT I'M BACK! I hope you enjoy. And I'm looking for a beta reader, if anyone is interested. Send me a message on Tumblr @changingthefairy-tale! 
> 
> As a side note: I hope everyone is well and healthy and practicing best practices (washing hands, social distancing, etc)!

The day of the shooting marked a definitive shift in Clarke and Bellamy’s relationship, both at work and in their personal lives. 

At the hospital, the hostility from before had almost completely evaporated. Clarke now had a better idea of where he was coming from when he was insistent on protocol. And Bellamy now trusted Clarke’s judgement — well, as much as a chief resident could trust an intern’s judgement. They still bickered constantly, but their arguments were more productive and less hostile. 

The first time they had really gotten into a larger disagreement (Clarke may or may not have stolen a patient from the natal ward, but in her defense, she had been right about the murmur), Bellamy had ended up buying her a coffee the next morning as a peace offering. The next time they rowed, Clarke had returned the gesture. Soon, it was their way of clearing the air without even having to discuss it. 

Otherwise, they settled into a nice routine. Bellamy would help her study and quiz her in their spare time. She played assisting resident anytime he practiced a procedure on a cadaver.

Outside of work, they were actually becoming pretty close friends. While they rarely agreed on anything at work, Clarke was surprised to find that they were actually very similar in their personal lives. They were both very liberal and had strong opinions on politics. Both would rather watch old surgery tapes or a documentary on TV than go out and party. They both liked cooking — Bellamy was a great chef and Clarke dominated at baking. 

Within a month, their two friend groups started to integrate, too. Clarke had invited Bellamy over to watch her mother’s old tapes, and he had ended up bringing Dr. Miller (whose first name Clarke learned is Nathan) and Dr. Lincoln Woods — his two best friends who are also residents. Murphy and Octavia also started coming to non-medical movie nights and nights out. 

Now, The Delinquents group chat included Clarke, Bellamy, Harper, Monty, Jasper, Wells, Finn, Miller, Lincoln, Murphy and Emori. 

The more time Clarke spent with Bellamy, either alone or in their now combined group of friends, she could feel herself being more and more drawn to him. They just… clicked. And of course, his attractiveness wasn’t helping anything. 

It was one thing when his objective attractiveness was overshadowed by his being an arrogant ass. But now, Clarke had to admit that he was actually an amazing guy underneath the bravado. And where he was attractive when he was being surly and scowling all the time, he’s downright sexy as fuck when he’s laughing at a joke Miller makes or being affectionate with Octavia. 

Of course, nothing untoward was going on. Yes, Clarke found him attractive to a distracting degree. But that would pass. She’d been friends with plenty of gorgeous men and women before and had lived to tell the tale. She’d soon get used to him and his...well everything. At least, she hoped she did. 

They were just starting to be friends. And he was her boss. _God, he was her boss._ And she had Finn, who was great. And most importantly, there was no way that he saw her as anything more than an employee and sort-of friend. 

But overall, everything was going pretty well. So well that Clarke doesn’t even feel terribly nervous on the morning of the intern exam. 

“Someone slept in,” Finn teases as Clarke shuffles into the kitchen only half alive. Harper, Monty and Wells are all sitting at the counter and Finn is at the stove cooking what smells and sounds like bacon. 

“A good night’s rest is an integral part of doing well on any standardized test. Bite me,” she grumbles, plopping down onto the final stool at the bar. Everyone just chuckles at her outburst — by now they were all used to Clarke’s grumpiness in the morning. 

Finn places a mug of coffee down in front of her, giving her a quick peck on her temple. “Morning, beautiful.” 

Even still half asleep, Clarke can’t keep the small smile off her face as she brings the mug up to her mouth for a sip. 

They have a leisurely breakfast — they aren’t supposed to go in until time for their exam and Clarke had confiscated all study materials last night before they all went to sleep. It wouldn’t help them to try to cram last-minute before the test. At this point, they either know it or they don’t.

The group chat is lively, everyone wishing the interns luck on the exam 

**The Delinquents**

**Lincoln:** Good luck today, guys! Please tell me you aren’t cramming last-minute at breakfast… 

**Clarke:** No worries. I confiscated study materials last night as instructed. :P 

**Murphy:** When you all fail you can come work at DS

**Bellamy:** Murphy… 

**Murphy:** What? I’m being supportive!

**Clarke:** Thanks, Murph. That’s great encouragement to pass. 

**Murphy:** I take it back. Everyone can work at DS… except for Clarke 

**Octavia:** GOOD LUCK TODAY WEIRDOS 

**Miller:** Is it weird that I could physically hear you yelling while I read that 

**Bellamy:** Yes. 

**Miller:** Fuck off 

**Wells:** Pls refrain from fighting in the group chat before the biggest test of our lives is over thx 

**Clarke:** He’s just stressed because I took away his flashcards and he’s experiencing withdrawal. 

**Wells:** Fuck off, Clarke 

**Murphy:** Why did I agree to join this group chat again? 

_*Clarke removed Murphy from The Delinquents*_

_*Emori added Murphy to The Delinquents*_

**Emori:** Wasn’t me 

**Bellamy:** We all know he stole your phone to add it back. 

**Murphy:** I hate you all. Go fail your test already. -.- 

  
  


But once they are all at the hospital, Clarke can feel the nerves start to kick in. 

They are all waiting at the nurse’s station on the surgical floor for Kane to show up. She’s pacing back and forth, picking at her nails, when a broad chest blocks her path and a pair of large hands steady her shoulders. She looks up to find Bellamy giving her a reassuring smile. 

“I don’t know why I’m so nervous all of a sudden,” she admits. “Logically, I know I know the material. But shit, Bellamy. What if I don’t? Or what if I choke and fail? What if my mother is right, and I should have chosen a less demanding specialty? What if —” He cuts her off mid-spiral. 

“Breathe, Princess.” She scowls briefly at the name but does as he says, taking deep breaths in through her nose and out through her mouth. 

“You are not going to fail, Clarke. If there is a single intern in this hospital I know for a fact will pass with flying colors, it’s you. Just don’t overthink it.” His voice is calm, and after a few moments, she feels her heart rate start to slow. 

Of course, then she realizes just how close he’s standing to her, and her heart rate picks back up for an entirely different reason. They stand there staring at each other for who knows how long. He looks like he wants to say something, but doesn’t. And Clarke’s having a hard time focusing on anything other than the way his freckles dance across his cheek bones. 

She swears she isn’t imagining it when his eyes dart down to her mouth for just a fraction of a second. 

“Welcome to the most important day of your intern year!” Chief Kane’s upbeat voice breaks whatever moment Clarke and Bellamy were in, and they startle apart from each other. 

They’re soon corralled toward the auditorium where attendings hold M&M proceedings, but Clarke looks back over her shoulder before going inside. Bellamy is leaned up against the nurse’s station watching, and she catches his wink before she heads in. 

As they walk to their seats, Finn falls into step beside her, a concerned look on his face. 

“What did Blake have to talk to you about? Looked intense.” 

“What? Oh, no. Bellamy was just, uh, wishing me good luck,” she gives him what she hopes is an unaffected smile. “Told me that I better pass since he wasted all those hours helping me study.” 

Finn smirks at that, and Clarke releases a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. “Leave it to him to goad you right before the biggest test of our careers thus far.” 

She gives him a quick kiss on the cheek in lieu of a response. “Let’s kick this test’s ass, shall we?” 

“See you on the other side, babe.” He gives her a small salute and a final smile before breaking off to find his own seat. 

Once all the interns get settled, Kane passed out testing materials and wished them luck. Clarke isn’t religious, but she sends up a prayer just in case anyone is listening. 

*** 

Two weeks later, and it’s Saturday movie night with everyone crammed into the living room of Clarke’s house. 

Clarke is sitting in the corner of her sectional with her legs in Finn’s lap. Octavia is sitting on the extended area of the couch leaned against Clarke. Monty and Harper are sitting on the other side of Finn, Miller and Murphy are propped up on the floor, Lincoln is in one recliner and Bellamy is in the other. The only two missing are Jasper and Emori, who both had to work. 

One of the Fast and Furious movies is on in the background (it was Miller’s night to choose), but the interns are all more focused on checking their phones. Test results are set to hit their inboxes tonight. 

“You’re not evening paying attention to the movie,” Finn teases her. Clarke’s studying her phone, waiting for her new emails to load. 

“I’m paying attention fine. Paul Walker is doing something hot, Ludacris just made a funny comment and Vin Diesel is being surly,” she mumbles, not looking up from her phone. Finn just chuckles in response. 

“Stop worrying, you said you thought you did well,” Octavia tips her head back to give Clarke an exasperated look. 

“Yeah, you’ll be fine. You had the chief resident tutor you. If anyone should be worried, it’s the rest of us,” Harper chimes in. Clarke can feel Finn tense a little underneath her legs, but he’s still watching the movie with a small grin on his face, so she figures she’s just projecting. 

Octavia, who was still looking at Clarke raised her eyebrows. “Bell tutored you?” 

“Tutored is a strong word. He just quizzed me when we had spare time during shifts,” Clarke shrugs noncommittally. The dark headed girl continues to stare, looking unimpressed by her answer. 

“He helped all of us study when we were around,” Monty offers helpfully, and Clarke makes a mental note to give him a hug later. 

Bellamy helping her study isn’t a big deal. They typically did it at the nurse’s station in front of everyone, and he wasn’t exactly nice about it when she didn’t get an answer correctly. But the way Octavia is looking at her is making it feel like it means something. 

“But only one of us got to help him with cadaver practice,” Harper points out, oblivious to the tension now in the living room. 

“Wait, I didn’t know you were practicing on cadavers,” Finn says quietly, now looking at her with a hurt look on his face. Clarke sighs loudly. 

“It was the tradeoff for him quizzing me all the time. He helped me study, I played scrub nurse while we practiced procedures on cadavers. It’s not like I was performing surgeries or anything,” she defends herself, trying to play it off. But it’s not an entirely honest answer. 

Bellamy would practice leading surgeries, and Clarke would assist in the capacity that a resident would. While it didn’t necessarily help her learn how to handle in-the-moment complications or with the diagnostic process, it had helped her develop more skill with a scalpel and give her an in-depth look at advanced procedures. 

And if Bellamy had occasionally come back around the table to help tweak her wrist placement or guide her hand during a particularly complicated step, standing a little too close for Clarke to breathe entirely normally… well that was just him making sure she got the technique right. 

But she isn’t about to tell the rest of the room any of that. 

Of course, Murphy chose this moment to jump into the conversation. “I keep telling you two to bang it out already,” he says, sounding bored. The rest of the room just chuckles, which Clarke puts a mental pin in to overanalyze later. But Finn is tense and no longer smiling. When Clarke ventures a glance at Bellamy, he is shooting Murphy a look that could kill. 

“What? I’m just saying we could all move on with our lives if you two would just get it over with.” Bellamy just looks back at the TV, obviously uncomfortable. 

“Ohmygod, there is nothing to bang out!” Clarke exclaims, reaching a sock clad foot out to lightly kick the back of his head. Of course Bellamy is uncomfortable with Murphy making jokes about him sleeping with one of his interns. And Clarke is with Finn. Who is sitting right behind him on the couch.

“Okay, ow. That hurt.” 

“Good,” she shoots back. 

“Can we not just watch the goddamn movie?” Miller finally intervenes, and Clarke has never been more thankful for this overly grumpy presence. 

“I’m just saying —” 

“Do not make me kick your ass in Clarke’s house, Murphy,” Miller warns. Murphy sighs, but everyone thankfully goes quiet and turns back to the movie. Eventually, the chatter moves on to a debate on whether they like Ludacris or Tyresse Gibson’s character better, and Clarke starts to relax again. 

After the turn of conversation, Clarke almost forgets about the test results until Harper releases an uncharacteristic squeal. 

“The results are in! The results are in! Check your emails. I got a 230.” 

Miller pauses the movie while the interns scramble for their phones and check for their scores. 

“Passed with a 235,” Wells says, pleased with himself. 

In quick succession Finn and Monty supply their own scores, 220 and 245 respectively. Clarke keeps swiping down on her inbox, but it’s not refreshing. 

“Come on, come on,” she mutters softly. At this point, the rest of the room is waiting for her response. 

When it finally does pop up, Clarke reads over it twice. There’s no way that’s her score. 

“Oh my god,” she finally says, her hand covering her mouth. 

“What did you get?” Octavia grabs her phone in excitement and reads out her score for the rest of the room. “Miss Clarke Griffin, We are delighted to inform you that you have passed your USMLE Step 3 with a score of 260 out of 300.” 

“Holy shit, Griffin,” Miller turns to stare at a wide-eyed Clarke, who is currently too stunned to say anything. 

“A 260? That’s gotta be in like the top 10% of scorers nationwide,” Monty comments, looking a bit awestruck. Clarke understood the feeling.

“More like the top 1% of scorers,” Wells corrects, a proud smile on his face. 

“You just made that test your bitch, huh?” Finn gives her a small grin. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but Clarke chooses to believe that it’s because he’s still irked about Murphy’s earlier comments and not because he’s upset she got the highest score of the group. 

“We have to throw a party!” Harper announces. “We all passed the exam and the absolute hell of our intern year — sorry Bellamy,” she gives him an apologetic look, but he shrugs as if to say he isn’t offended in any way and she continues. “And Arkadia is officially home to one of the top-ranked first years. We deserve to celebrate!” 

“Not at the bar,” Murphy says adamantly. 

“No, we’d have it here of course. Right, Clarke?” The last thing Clarke wants is to throw a party. She’s never really been big into partying in general, and the hangover and cleanup required the next day always seemed more effort than the actual party was worth. 

But Harper was looking at her hopefully, her hands clasped in front of her. And both Monty and Wells seemed thrilled by the idea. Honestly, if even Wells looked like he was interested in a party, who was Clarke to be the party-pooper. 

“What the hell, you only pass your intern exam once right? Let’s have a party.” 

“Yes! Octavia, will you help plan? And Murphy, I’m nominating you to provide the booze. It’s going to be epic.” 

“A small party,” Clarke clarifies. “We do not need half the hospital having a rager on the lawn.” 

But Harper and Octavia are already sharing a conspiring look. Miller grumbles about how movie night is ruined and turns off the movie. The rest of the evening quickly devolves into a discussion of decorations and potential themes. Clarke vetoes 99% of what Octavia and Harper suggest, but it does little to dampen their spirits. 

A couple of hours later, almost everyone has left. Finn has an early shift at the hospital the next day, so he was one of the first people to duck out. He wished Clarke a congratulations about her score and gave her a quick peck on the cheek before leaving, and she’s trying not to feel too hurt by his exit. 

Now, it’s just Harper, Monty and Bellamy help pick up the remnants of the snacks and straighten the living room. Clarke walkes Bellamy out after they are finished. 

“Thanks for staying to help clean up,” she nudges him with her elbow as they get to her front door. He just hums in response. 

They stand a bit awkwardly for a minute, neither knowing exactly what to say. 

“Sorry Murphy was such an ass tonight,” she finally breaks the silence. He gets a look on his face that she doesn’t quite recognize, and she’s gotten pretty good the past couple of months at reading his expressions. It’s almost like he wants to say something but is debating whether it’s a good idea. 

“Murphy is an ass every night,” he finally shrugs, his hands in his pockets. 

Clarke has actively ignored how good he looks tonight, wearing jeans and a threadbare burgundy hoodie with the sleeves pushed up his forearms. She is suddenly very aware that she’s in yoga pants that have a small hole in the inner knee, with a sports bra that does nothing for her boobs, a ratty tee, and her unwashed hair in a messy bun on top of her head. Zero makeup on. 

“Congrats on the score, by the way. That’s a seriously impressive accomplishment, Clarke,” he says, his voice taking a more serious tone. Clarke blushes at the compliment. 

“I’m coming for your job, Blake,” she winks at him teasingly. Bellamy just rolls his eyes and shakes his head, one corner of his mouth turning up in that signature smirk. 

“I see this hasn’t gone to your head at all.” Clarke just shrugs, smiling. 

“Someone’s gotta keep you on your toes.” 

“I’ll see you on Monday, Princess,” he flashes a smile, a genuine smile, before closing the door behind him. 

Clarke goes to bed shortly after, a grin on her face after a sweet goodnight message from Finn. But it’s tanned skin and a teasing smirk calling her “Princess” that fill her dreams once she falls asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're finally starting to see a smidge of the Bellamy and Clarke dynamic we all know and love (and find ourselves very exasperated with after 6 seasons of this shit in canon). Excited for what I have planned for the next few chapters, and I hope you are, too! 
> 
> As always, I appreciate any feedback, kudos, and comments. Y'all are the absolute best! <3


	7. Self Destruct Button

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s wearing black jeans, a fitted black t-shirt and a dark denim button-up left open. The sleeves are rolled and pushed up to his elbows, showing off his forearms. It’s not that Bellamy isn’t attractive in scrubs or the sweatpants she usually sees him in outside of work, but the novelty of seeing him a little dressed up was not lost on her. 
> 
> Realizing she’s straight up staring at him at this point, she drags her eyes up to his face. He’s got that damn smirk on his face, eyebrow cocked in obvious amusement. 
> 
> “See something you like, Princess?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SO SORRY IT'S BEEN SO LONG. To make up for it (and the absolute #AngstFest of my most recent chapter of Intertwining Your Soul), here's 3k words of Bellarke fluff and relationship building. <3

It is way too damn loud in her house. As soon as Clarke walks through the door, she’s greeted with music blasting through the speakers that Jasper had lent them for the party. Covering her ears, she squeezes through the crowds gathered throughout the bottom floor in search of Octavia and Harper. Originally, the plan had been to invite the other surgical residents, some of the surgical nurses and a few other friends. But Clarke felt as if half of the hospital was crammed into her house.

This was decidedly not the small party she gave Octavia and Harper permission to host at the house. 

She finds them standing on top of the coffee table in the living room, each with a bottle of beer in their hands dancing to Beyonce. At the blatantly annoyed expression on Clarke’s face, Harper’s eyes go wide. 

“Octavia! You told me you cleared it with her!” she turns to the woman next to her, who is still swaying her hips to the melody. Octavia is obviously already a bit drunk. 

“You know what? It’s fine,” Clarke sighs. It’s not like there was anything she could do about it at this point. Harper gives her an apologetic look, and Clarke gives her a small smile. She could yell at Octavia later. 

She makes a round through the house, putting away any valuables in danger of breaking. As she stands up from putting a stained glass vase below the sink, she almost jumps at the sight of Bellamy leaning up against the kitchen island with a drink in his hand. 

“Jesus, don’t sneak up on people like that!” she snaps, hand flying to her chest. Clarke convinces her heart to slow down, only for it to pick back up again as she fully takes him in. 

He’s wearing black jeans, a fitted black t-shirt and a dark denim button-up left open. The sleeves are rolled and pushed up to his elbows, showing off his forearms. It’s not that Bellamy isn’t attractive in scrubs or the sweatpants she usually sees him in outside of work, but the novelty of seeing him a little dressed up was not lost on her. 

Realizing she’s straight up staring at him at this point, she drags her eyes up to his face. He’s got that damn smirk on his face, eyebrow cocked in obvious amusement. 

“See something you like, Princess?” 

Was he flirting? That sounded suspiciously like flirting, which up until this very moment was not a prominent fixture in Clarke and Bellamy’s friendship. 

“Depends on what’s in that cup,” she smirks back, recovering. He laughs, the tension temporarily diffused, and holds it out for her to take. 

Clarke sips the clear liquid and immediately wrinkles her nose as it burns down her throat. 

“God, that tastes like gasoline.” 

“Jasper’s moonshine never disappoints. Not a fan?” The way he asks the question makes it sound like a challenge. 

“Are you?” she shoots back, eyebrows raised. 

“You will be, too, by the time you get through your residency,” he chuckles, taking back the cup for a sip of his own. Clarke wrinkles her nose at the thought, bringing out another laugh from Bellamy. 

“This was not supposed to be a moonshine kind of party,” she mutters, more to herself than Bellamy. 

“Loosen up, Princess. Learn to have some fun.” 

“Oh yeah, because you’re known for being Mr. Life of the Party,” she rolls her eyes and crosses her arms across her chest. “Besides. I am fun.” 

“Prove it.” He extends out his cup. She can see the mischievous glint in his eyes, the same one he gets when he goads her into an argument. He wants to see fun? She’ll show him fun. 

Clarke takes it and knocks it back, downing the rest of it in one foul swoop. Bellamy’s eyes widen, obviously a little surprised, but he quickly schools his expression back into that annoyingly attractive smirk. 

She can tell he’s about to say something when Jasper bursts into the kitchen. 

“Someone come play beer pong against Octavia and Lincoln! They’ve got a winning streak, and you know she’s a sore winner,” he whines, his words just a little slurred. Clarke cocks an eyebrow at Bellamy. 

“Oh no, we’re not playing beer pong against my sister.” 

“What was it you were saying about learning to have some fun?” She gives him her own challenging smirk as she saunters past, not waiting to see if he follows. 

As they get their cups set up, Clarke realizes this is not typical beer pong. Along each side of the table, a row of shot glasses are set up. 

“Alright. Each cup is a shot. Switch back and forth, no unequal divvying of the drinking responsibilities. Standard house rules: Elbows behind the table, one one rerack per game, islands must be called in advance. You can finger a ringer, but no blowing,” Monty rubs his hands together, handing the reigning champs the ping pong balls. “Play ball! Er, beer..pong. Whatever, just start!” 

Octavia takes the first shot, easily landing a ball in the first cup. Bellamy gives Clarke a look as if to say, _I told you this was a bad idea_ , but takes the first shot silently. Lincoln, thankfully, misses.

Bell misses his shot, and Octavia laughs. “Oh, this is going to be a fun game, big brother.” 

Clarke takes the other ball, lines up her shot, and sinks it in the middle cup triumphantly. She meets Octavia and Lincoln’s raised eyebrows with a wink, and Bellamy laughs next to her. 

“I think you might be right, O.” 

The game goes back and forth, drawing a significant crowd. Octavia is competitive, but so are the rest of them. Doctors who weren’t generally didn’t make it through a surgical residency program. 

After Clarke’s fourth shot, she’s definitely feeling buzzed. They have at least 15 people crowded around the table, watching with rapt interest as the two teams go head to head. 

When it’s Octavia’s turn, she sways a bit as she lines up her shot, and Lincoln steadies her from behind with a hand to the hip. The gesture is innocent enough, and Clarke doesn’t think Bellamy even notices. But even in her buzzed state, she can see the way Octavia leans into his touch, just a little. 

At this point in the game, Octavia and Lincoln are ahead. Clarke and Bellamy only have one cup left standing. Octavia and Lincoln have two. 

O misses her shot, thank God. And Bellamy makes his. If Clarke can sink this final shot, they’ll win. 

“One more shot to win it all!” Jasper shouts from his place in the middle of the table. “This is it, folks. Team Bellarke vs. Team Linctavia, and it all comes down to this!” 

All four players give Jasper a brief look at his ridiculous names, but no one comments. 

“You got this, Princess,” Bellamy whispers from behind her, his breath hot against her ear. She can feel his presence behind her, somehow both steadying her and making her feel even more intoxicated at the same time. As he’s gotten more tipsy with each shot, he’s also gotten more affectionate, which hadn’t escaped Clarke’s notice. 

To be fair, the more tipsy Clarke’s gotten, the more aware of him she’s become. Every ripple of muscle in his forearm when he takes a shot. Every toothy grin when they land a shot. Every casual touch, a hand on her lower back or absent tap of his fingers on her arm to tell her it’s her turn. 

She pushes down the shiver that pushes down her spine, focusing on the shot. She lines up, takes a breath.  _ One, two, three, throw.  _ It sinks in their final cup. 

Clarke raises her hands above her head in victory, and everyone around the table erupts into cheers. Jasper looks like he’s about to lose his marbles. 

But Octavia’s voice cuts across the table, silencing everyone. “REDEMPTION SHOT, MOTHERFUCKERS!” 

She takes a ball and gives it a quick kiss for luck (which definitely isn’t sanitary, but Clarke doesn’t point that out). With little fanfare, she launches the ball across the table. It catches on the rim of their lone cup, spinning around the edges. 

Clarke reacts quickly, sticking her in the cup and lifting out the ping pong ball. Octavia screams, and Clarke pumps her fist in the air. Jasper, Monty, and the rest of their audience goes ballistic. 

“AND THE REIGNING CHAMPS HAVE FINALLY BEEN DEFEATED!” Jasper yells, raising his red solo cup in the air like he was toasting the end of a war, and not the end of a beer pong match. 

“But how!?” Octavia exclaims in bewilderment. 

Clarke shrugs, raising her hands and wiggling her fingers. “Surgeon,” she beams proudly in explanation. Octavia glares at her from across the table. 

Before she knows what’s happening, strong arms are wrapping around her middle and lifting her in the air. Bellamy spins her around, and she laughs, her head thrown back. Clarke willfully ignores the sensation of her back sliding down his front as he puts her back down. 

“That’s my girl,” he says, low enough for only her to hear. She turns around to comment on his usage of “my girl” when her eyes slide past his shoulder to see Finn at the edge of the crowd. Unlike the rest of the group, he didn’t seem to be celebrating the win. 

But before she can walk over to say anything to him, Octavia is bringing her attention back to the table to call for a rematch. 

“No rematch, O. Don’t be a sore loser,” Bellamy smirks at his sister. “Besides, Princess over here needs some water.” 

“Hey, I’m fine,” Clarke protests. 

“You’re drunk is what you are.” 

“So are you,” she argues back, petulant. 

“I’m not the one swaying like there’s a stiff breeze in here,” he says, poking her shoulder gently with a finger to prove his point. To be fair, the gesture does make her sway on her feet. “Come on, let’s get you some water. You too, O,” he calls out over his shoulder. 

Both women reluctantly follow him back into the kitchen, where he pours them each a cup from the Brita filter in the fridge. Clarke gestures for him to pour one for himself, too. 

“We took the same number of shots. If we have to hydrate, so do you.” She puts her hands on her hips, refusing to take the cup from his hands. With a huff, he downs the contents before refilling it and extending his hand back to her. 

“Your turn.” 

With narrowed eyes, she takes the cup and sips. He just rolls his eyes at her. 

“I’ve gotta go to the bathroom. Both of you please drink those by the time I get back.” He gives him both a pointed look before walking out. Clarke watches him go, feeling equal parts irritation and affection at his compulsion to take care of everyone around him. 

“So you and my brother, huh?” Octavia’s voice pulls Clarke out of her thoughts. 

“What?” 

“I’m not blind. I see the way you look at each other.”

“Me and Bell? No way,” Clarke shakes her head. Octavia just raises an eyebrow at her, leaning against the countertop. 

“Look, I’m not upset. Irked that you didn’t tell me about it yourself, maybe. But you guys are good together,” Octavia shrugs, taking another swig of her water. 

“I’m with Finn, O. And Bellamy doesn’t feel that way about me.” She feels the need to emphasize that last bit. Though for her own sake or Octavia’s, she doesn’t quite know. 

“So you’re telling me you  _ don’t _ have a thing for Bellamy?” she gives Clarke a sly look, eyebrows raised. 

“We’re friends. And he’s my boss, Octavia.” 

“That’s not a no,” she points out, smirking in a way Clarke knows she got from her brother. 

Clarke’s about to argue with her, but Octavia puts a hand up to stop her. “I see the way you two look at each other.” She doesn’t want to think about what that statement means. 

“Oh, like the way you and Lincoln look at each other?” Octavia briefly looks down at her drink, and Clarke knows she’s onto something. 

“Lincoln’s a good guy. And you already know Bellamy likes him,” Clarke points out. “Why not make a move?” 

The other woman doesn’t respond immediately, still not meeting Clarke’s eyes. Her own widen in understanding. 

“Stop deflecting,” the other woman grumbles. “This isn’t about me.” 

“Oh my God, you’ve already made a move!” 

“Keep your voice down,” Octavia hisses, but it does nothing to wipe the smile from Clarke’s face. “He made a move, and we’re taking things slowly.” 

“I fucking knew it! Does Bellamy know?” 

“No, and we’re going to keep it that way. You know how freakishly overprotective he is, and the last thing I want is him accusing Lincoln of taking advantage of his younger sister.” 

“Bell knows no one can take advantage of you, O. You’re a force of freaking nature,” Clarke assures her. Truth be told, Clarke sees her point. Bellamy is overprotective. 

Octavia gives her a small smile, eyes softening. “You know, you’re the only person besides me who he lets call him Bell.” 

“Stop it. There is nothing going on between us,” Clarke levels her with a look. 

“But would it be the worst thing in the world if there was?” She must see Clarke gearing up for another rebuttal because she shakes her head. “I like the guy my brother is when you’re around. A little more carefree, relaxed… a little more like himself.” 

Clarke takes in her words, mulling them over. Was that really true? 

Against her will, her mind starts thinking of the possibilities—what it would be like if there  _ was  _ something between her and Bellamy. She’s shocked to realize that things probably wouldn’t even change that much. 

They would still argue over everything at the hospital. They’d spend movie nights watching documentaries and old surgery films, game nights joking with their ragtag group of friends, afternoons studying upcoming procedures together. 

Except movie nights would end with her curling into his side to sleep instead of walking him to the door. The casual affection they shared when they were both drunk would extend into their sober relationship. They’d have makeup sex instead of makeup coffee after a rough argument. Oh God, images of him pushing her up against the wall in the elevator, his lips whispering sorry as he kisses her neck. Those fucking perfect arms of his bracing himself above her in bed at night… 

She shakes her head, forcing those thoughts from her head. 

“We’re just friends,” she reiterates to Octavia...and herself. 

O just rolls her eyes, looking unimpressed. “When you both pull your heads out of your asses, just know I approve. That’s all I’m saying.” 

And with that, she throws her cup away and leaves Clarke alone in the kitchen with her thoughts until Bellamy is back. 

“You okay?” he asks, looking a little concerned. 

Clarke forces a smile onto her face. “Yep. Just coming down from the buzz a little.” 

He doesn’t look quite convinced, but he doesn’t push her on it. Maybe he senses it’s a bad idea to pull on this particular thread. 

Before he can say anything else, Finn appears in the doorway. Clarke relishes at the distraction. 

“Finn! I haven’t seen you all night. Dance with me?” Before he can say anything, she grabs his hand and pulls him out of the kitchen. 

“Spending a lot of time with Blake tonight,” he comments as he trails along behind Clarke. She stops to look up at him. 

“He was making fun of my aversion to moonshine when Jasper challenged us to a beer pong match against Octavia,” she explains dryly. What is tonight? ‘Call out Clarke and Bellamy’ night? 

She feels guilty the moment the thought crosses her mind. Finn is her boyfriend, and she had been picturing sex with her chief resident not five minutes prior. 

“You’re the one I want to dance with,” she says, softer this time. He gives her a small smile, and she grabs his hands, backing them onto the makeshift dance floor. Harper and Wells are already dancing, pulling Finn and Clarke into the fray. 

Octavia joins in eventually, dragging Jasper onto the dance floor. It doesn’t escape Clarke’s notice that her and Lincoln gravitate toward each other. Their backs are touching, even though they are faced away from each other and Octavia is technically dancing with Jasper. But she ignores Clarke’s knowing gaze, giving her a pointed look of her own instead. 

When the song changes again, Finn pulls her hips close. She lets herself lean into him. They move together to the beat of the music, her back to his chest. Harper hands her another drink, and soon, thoughts of her boss are replaced with Finn’s charming smile and wandering hands. 

A few songs later, and Clarke is still wrapped up in Finn. But when she looks up, she notices Bellamy across the room dancing with one of the ER nurses. Clarke thinks her name might be Gina. She’s beautiful, curly hair and big brown eyes. He’s got his hands on her hips, and hers are looped around his neck. 

She’s smiling up at him, sultry in a way that Clarke thinks she could probably never pull off. But it’s the smirk on his face, that annoyingly smug one she stupidly assumed was saved for her, that causes a pang of jealousy in her chest. 

It’s that unwanted feeling that drives Clarke to say yes when Finn leans down and asks if she wants to escape upstairs. They pass by Gina and Bellamy, on their way out of the room, and Clarke’s eyes meet Bellamy’s. She ignores the petty sense of victory that fills her veins when she swears she sees his jaw tense as she walks away. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for reading! The response to this fic has been awesome, and I'm so glad you guys have liked the story so far. <3 As always, I love kudos, comments, etc! 
> 
> Huge shoutout to my new beta reader Mars (@loverosie)! And of course, come hang out with me on Tumblr if you want @changingthefairy-tale. Much love to you all. Stay safe and sane during this crazy time.


	8. Fix You Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You barely touched your lunch, Bell. Don’t you have back to back surgeries this afternoon? You should eat something.” She knows she’s mothering, a habit all of their friends tease her about relentlessly. But Bellamy has no room to talk, so she doesn’t back down, even when he shoots her an exasperated look.
> 
> “He’s a grown man, Clarke. He can make his own decisions,” Finn grumbles next to her. Clarke is still looking at Bellamy, though. And she sees the face he shoots her boyfriend. It’s only a brief glance, but she sees it all the same — the tick of his jaw, narrowing of eyes in a flash of annoyance. 
> 
> Suddenly, that now-familiar tension has settled over the trio. And Clark instantly realizes exactly what’s been going on the past couple of months.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M BACK. This whole pandemic and lockdown stuff has been a bit hard mentally and emotionally, but I apologize for taking so damn long on this update. This chapter is a bit longer than usual, so hope you enjoy! 
> 
> Warning as per usual: I'm not a doctor and Google can only tell me so much about medical procedures and protocol I write about in some chapters. If you are a doctor or medical professional of any kind, feel free to help me correct any errors about the medical jargon and plot points in this! :)

Things have been...weird lately. Nothing that Clarke can definitively put her finger on, but it’s like there’s a new tension in the air with their friend group. 

At first, she just attributed it to everyone getting used to their new roles and responsibilities at work. The interns were now first-year residents, helping boss around a new slew of interns. Bellamy, Lincoln and Miller were now fellows, studying under their chosen specialties (cardio, oncology, and ortho, respectively). Everyone was just stressed. 

But it’s been over two months of this weirdness that apparently only Clarke notices (she’d asked Harper about it, who had been oblivious to any differences), and she still doesn’t know why she feels weird. 

“I can  _ hear _ the gears turning, Princess,” Bellamy’s voice shakes her from her inner thoughts. He didn’t even look up from the case studies on some new surgical procedure he was studying up on before an afternoon surgery. 

They normally eat outside these days, but the harsh rain and occasional thunder and lightning today made that impossible. Unfortunately, the gloomy weather is making Clarke even more anxious than usual. 

“Just thinking.” 

“You mean overthinking,” he corrects her, and she sticks her tongue out at him. “Very mature.” 

She doesn’t dignify that with a response, instead going back to her own lunch. It isn’t long, though, before Finn drops into the seat on the opposite side of Clarke. 

“Hey babe,” he greets with a quick peck on the cheek before swiping a baby carrot. “Dr. Blake,” he addresses Bellamy. She still found it weird that they addressed each other so formally half the time. Her and Finn had been dating for a while at this point, and Bellamy had become a permanent fixture in their friend circle. But it must be a dude thing, so she didn’t question either of them about the habit. 

“Get your own carrots, Collins,” she fake chastises. He just smirks at her before leaning back in his seat. 

“I’ve got to prep for surgery,” Bellamy announces all of a sudden, gathering his stuff.

“You barely touched your lunch, Bell. Don’t you have back to back surgeries this afternoon? You should eat something.” She knows she’s mothering, a habit all of their friends tease her about relentlessly. But Bellamy has no room to talk, so she doesn’t back down, even when he shoots her an exasperated look.

“He’s a grown man, Clarke. He can make his own decisions,” Finn grumbles next to her. Clarke is still looking at Bellamy, though. And she sees the face he shoots her boyfriend. It’s only a brief glance, but she sees it all the same — the tick of his jaw, narrowing of eyes in a flash of annoyance. 

Suddenly, that now-familiar tension has settled over the trio. And Clark instantly realizes exactly what’s been going on the past couple of months. 

“I promise I’ll eat something before I go in,” Bellamy placates, giving her an expression that is agitated and soft all at once. She raises an eyebrow, unconvinced, but doesn’t say anything. He touches her shoulder briefly before leaving the room, and she whirls on Finn. 

“What was that about?” she asks incredulously, eyebrows raised. 

“What are you talking about? You’re the one looking after him like a nurse or something. I was just pointing out that he’s a grown man,” he shrugs, trying to retain that easy-going vibe he always has. Clarke is learning that some of that is more bravado than him actually being that devil-may-care. 

“Ignoring the fact that you just called me a nurse as if it’s an insult, he’s my friend. I’d also tell you to eat something if you were about to go into a strenuous surgery.” 

“Yes, Clarke. But only one of us is your boyfriend in this scenario.” The words have a bit more bite than Clarke thinks Finn probably meant for them to, but he doesn’t back down from her stare. 

“Is that what this is about? You think I have feelings for Bellamy?” 

“Do you?” 

Clarke has half a mind to just leave the room. She isn’t one for confrontation when it comes to her personal life, and this seems like a conversation they should have at home. Or a conversation they should not have at all, which would be Clarke’s personal preference. 

“Why would you even think that?” It’s not a straight answer, and they both know it. Clarke doesn’t really know the answer herself, if she’s being honest. She doesn’t want to break up with Finn. And she doesn’t think she wants to date Bellamy. But he’s decidedly not on the same level of friendship in her mind as, say, Monty. 

“Just… forget it. I just don’t like the guy, that’s all,” he says finally, rubbing his forehead. 

“Since when do you not like Bellamy?” This was news to her. Sure, they had never been best buds, but they’d also never been hostile to each other. 

“Since he started spending more time at your place than your roommates,” he shot back, without missing a beat. 

“Are you really jealous of how much time we spend together? Finn, 99% of the time we’re either watching old surgical tapes or a history documentary on opposite ends of the couch. And the only reason you aren’t there as well is that you’re either busy with family stuff or at the hospital.” 

Clarke puts her head in her hands. This is getting ridiculous. First Murphy, then Octavia, and now Finn is hopping on that same train about her and Bellamy’s friendship. 

“Look. Bellamy and I are close, and I’m not going to apologize for it. The day of the shooting last year…” she didn’t want to get into it, both because it was a day she didn’t like to think about and the conversation she had with Bellamy after felt too private to share with Finn. 

“I know. You went through that together,” he acknowledges. “I’m not saying don’t be friends with the guy. You’re your own person who can make those decisions for yourself. I’m just saying… I don’t like the guy. That’s all.” He sounds a little defeated, and Clarke hopes that means this is the end of this particular conversation. 

“I’m not dating Bellamy, Finn. I’m dating you,” she reassures him, grabbing one of his hands to intertwine it with her own. He nods, giving her a mollified smile. 

But before he can respond, Wells sticks his head in the door. 

“Massive trauma coming into the ER. All hands on deck — you should be getting a page in a second.” 

They immediately get up to follow him, their discussion momentarily forgotten. As they exit the doors, Wells pulls back on Clarke’s elbow to get her to slow down. 

“What, Wells? We gotta go —” 

“Everything okay?” he asks, concern written all over his face. “It looked like I was interrupting something big.” 

If possible, her heart grew even more fond of her oldest friend. “It’s fine, just a disagreement. Thank you for checking in on me, though.” 

He doesn’t look entirely convinced. But there are bigger things going on than Clarke’s boy problems, so he lets her go and they both hurry down to the trauma bay. 

“Multiple GSWs incoming, sounds like the cops got into a shoot out,” Jasper called out as the residents donned trauma gowns. Medics were bringing in a few guys on stretchers, and Dr. Monroe immediately starts directing them to different trauma rooms and bed spots on the ER floor. 

According to the medics, a sting operation had gone wrong and led to lots of gunfire. The ER is filled with suspected perps and more than a few cops. Many have smaller injuries, cuts from shattered glass and the like. But there are a few with more serious gunshot wounds. 

Clarke ends up in a trauma room with Finn, treating a rookie cop who had been shot in the abdomen apparently missing the area his bulletproof vest would have covered. The paramedics who brought him in have removed the vest and cut a clear line up the middle of his shirt. 

Blood is gushing from the wound, enough to make Clarke wonder if the bullet hit an artery or vein. 

He is thrashing about in pain, and Clarke couldn’t get a proper read on his vitals. 

“Finn, hold him down!” 

“What does it look like I’m trying to do, Clarke?” he bites out, trying to get a grip on the man’s shoulders. 

“Status?” Bellamy’s voice commands from the doorway. 

Clarke has her back to him, but Finn stays quiet, so she stops trying to get a read on his breath sounds to answer him. 

“Working on it,” Clarke calls, her own voice clipped. “GSW to the lower left lumbar region. Based on how he’s reacting, I’d say it may have nicked his renal artery. We’ve got to get him to an OR.” 

“Give him 25 mgs  propofol, and then page the OR so that they’re ready for you,” Bellamy orders harshly. “Stabilize the patient first, do a vital check after. You’re residents, act like it.” 

He leaves without saying anything else, and Clarke sighs. He’s apparently in a mood today, but maybe that’s just because his big surgery was postponed. 

“OR’s ready when you are,” the nurse confirmes, hanging up the phone. After the propofol, the cop has finally stilled. Clarke is able to put pressure on the wound, hopefully staunching the bleeding for the ride to the OR. 

As they roll him toward the elevators that will take them to the OR floor, the guy gets a little chatty. 

“What’s the prognosis, Doc? Am I going to be in top shape in time for bikini season?” he jokes, a dazed smile taking up half of his face. 

“I think you’ll want to skip the fire truck red two-piece this year,” she says sympathetically.

He lets out a strained chuckle, immediately wincing in pain. “The bullet isn’t a fan of laughter, apparently.” 

They’re in the elevator on their way down when there’s a sudden jolt. Clarke loses her footing for a second, her shoulder slamming into the elevator walls. The lights dim and the hum of the elevator has stopped. They’re stuck. 

“Shit,” she mutters to herself, trying in vain to press the button for the OR floor. “The storm must have knocked out the power.” 

“It’s okay. The generators should kick on any second,” Finn reminds her. She takes a deep breath. Clarke’s never been a fan of enclosed spaces, and being trapped in a suspended elevator with a gunshot patient isn’t really her idea of a fun time. 

A few minutes go by, and Clarke busies herself by checking on the patient’s wound. He’s losing a considerable amount of blood, which concerns Clarke. But he’s lucid and the combination of the shock from the trauma and the sedative they gave him seem to be keeping him comfortable. Well… as comfortable as someone with a bullet hole in their abdomen can be. 

“I’m no expert, but shouldn’t the lights have kicked back on by now?” the cop asks hesitantly. 

“Any second now…” Finn mumbles hopefully, though Clarke wonders if it’s to reassure the patient or himself. 

A few more minutes go by, still no change. Clarke doesn’t want to start yelling for help or doing anything that would potentially cause her patient to panic, but her anxiety levels are rising by the second. 

She checks her phone… no signal. Great. 

“I’m getting a little worried here, Doc,” his voice sounds weaker now, and Clarke takes ahold of one of his hands. 

“Nothing to worry about yet, okay? I’m sure they’re doing everything they can to get the lights back on so we can get you to the OR.” 

“I don’t want to die.” 

“No one is dying in here today, you hear me? Just stay awake, and keep talking to me, alright?” 

Clarke gives Finn a pleading look, hoping for him to jump into the conversation. Finn has always been one of those doctors who likes to keep his distance from patients, focusing on the work rather than building connections with patients. But right now, Clarke needs him to be a bit more of his normal, charming self. 

“I’ve heard some wild stories about calls. Hit us with your best story,” Finn finally chimes in, giving him a laid back smile. 

“Honestly, this one. I’m a rookie, and this is only my second week on the job.” Clarke’s heart breaks at that. Only two weeks in, and he’s got a potentially problematic gunshot wound. 

“Hell of a story you’ll have after all of this, though.” 

They start bantering back and forth, Finn telling him some of the more gruesome stories from their intern year. Clarke somewhat tunes them out, trying to think of a way she could signal for help. This guy wasn’t going to be able to hold on much longer if he keeps losing blood like this. 

The longer they’re in the elevator, the more convinced Clarke is that he’s nicked the renal vein. If the bullet had lodged into the renal artery, he likely would have bled out by now. So potentially a small tear in the vein. 

Finally, the door cracks open and Clarke can hear almost frantic voices on the other side. 

“Get those goddamn doors open, or I will do it myself,” a familiar voice barks, low and commanding. 

“Calm down, Dr. Blake. Let them do their job,” Indra chastises him. 

“Stop scaring my patient, Blake,” Clarke calls out, unable to resist the urge to tease him. 

At the sound of her voice, multiple faces crowd into what was now about an eight-inch opening where the doors were open. They were stuck partially between floors, with the opening starting almost six feet high. 

“How are you holding up, Princess?” Bellamy asked, sounding tense. She makes a mental note to get onto him for calling her that in front of colleagues (including Finn, who gives her an annoyed look that she ignores) and what looks like the fire department, but lets it slide for the time being. 

“I’d be doing better if the generators were working,” she says dryly. 

“I don’t think that’s going to be an option for a while, Dr. Griffin,” Indra answers before Bellamy can respond. “Status on your patient?” 

“He’s awake and talking, but he definitely needs to get to the OR stat. I can’t confirm right now, but I think the bullet nicked the renal vein.” 

“That sounds serious, Doc,” her patient’s voice brings her attention back. “I don’t really… uh… feel so good. I think I’m going to —” he loses consciousness. 

Fuck. Clarke leans in to check for breath sounds and comes up empty. One of her hands is still locked over his wound, but Finn jumps in to check his heartbeat. 

“He’s got a pulse, but barely.” 

“Bag him,” she tells him before turning her attention back to the opening. “Guys, we’re going to need that OR sooner rather than later.” 

“What’s happening down there?” Indra asks. 

“Weak pulse and he stopped breathing. If we don’t stop this bleeding now, we’re going to lose him,” Finn calls out. 

There’s some discussion outside that Clarke can’t really make out, much to her dismay. But after a few seconds, Bellamy’s face is back in the opening. 

“Looks like the OR is coming to you guys.” 

Clarke’s eyes go wide. “I’m sorry, what?” 

“Indra just went to gown up, and we’re calling in Monroe. We’re going to get everything as sanitized as possible, but… looks like you guys are performing your first solo surgery today.” He’s got a look on his face, and Clarke can’t quite read it. He’s smirking at her, the calm exterior she’s come to expect from him while they’re at work. But his eyes aren’t quite matching the rest of his expression. He’s more worried than he’s letting on. 

They pass a few lap pads, a flashlight and some betadine through the slot, but the opening isn’t wide enough to pass an instrument tray. Finn gets everything arranged while Clarke, who still has one hand putting pressure on his wound, takes over bagging with her other hand. 

Indra sets up on the floor just outside the elevator, and Clarke looks up at Finn. 

“You’re on the right side of the table,” she reminds him. Right side of the table was where the lead surgeon stands. “You got this.” 

He nods, taking a deep breath. She gives him what she hopes looks like a supportive smile. Inside, she’s freaking out. She and Finn were about to perform an open procedure on a trauma patient from the inside of an elevator. God, what if they lost this guy? 

“I’ll be here the whole time to walk you through the procedure. Do us all a favor and don’t screw it up, okay?” Indra deadpans. Clarke reminds herself that the woman in question has probably performed much crazier procedures than this, and the thought does comfort her a bit. They weren’t alone. 

“We’ll do our best,” Clarke manages. Finn looks a bit like a deer caught in the headlights. She tries to catch his eye, but he’s fixated on the patient lying on the table. 

“Ready when you are,” Indra calls out. 

After a few beats of awkward silence, Finn finally looks up to meet Clarke’s gaze. He was frozen. 

“Fuck,” Clarke murmurs quietly. Then, in what she hoped was a calming voice, “Finn, can you bag for me and hold the light?” 

He nods, and she passes off the bag to him. Once she sees that he’s set a good pace, she turns to Indra. 

“I’m going to operate. Indra, 10-blade.” The words sound good on her lips as she holds out her hand. As Indra hands over the scalpel, Clarke thinks she sees a small smile on her lips. 

The next hour is one of the most stressful of Clarke’s life. The patient codes twice, and she ends up having to extend the original incision so she can graft a flap onto the tear before suturing. She’s right about the bullet nicking the renal vein, though. 

Indra walks her through repairing the vein as best as she can, and Clarke manages to keep her cool throughout the whole ordeal. It’s an awkward position because you’re generally taught to do procedures from the opposite side of the table, but Clarke’s played the assisting surgeon to Bellamy enough times in practice to manage okay. It helps that she’s technically left handed, too. 

Despite the stress and constant fear that she’s going to end up killing this patient, she feels… steady. If she ever had doubts that the OR was where she was meant to be, those are certainly gone now. 

Halfway through, the generators kick back on, which means overhead lights. Indra had the fire department turn off power to the elevators though, not wanting to interrupt the procedure mid-way through. 

As Clarke ties up the last stitch, she checks for any leaks. She smiles to herself as she realizes the graft is holding. It’s not the prettiest, and Indra will likely want to go back in and clean up some of the stitching to make sure it holds long-term. But holy shit, she did it. 

“Okay, that’s it. That’s the final stitch. No leaking, yet. What’s the next step?” 

“That’s it. We’ll get him down to the OR, and I’ll scrub in check everything before closing,” Indra says. Clarke exhales a large breath she didn’t really know she’d been holding in, and Indra gives her a grin. “You just flew solo, Dr. Griffin.” 

They get the guy to the OR for Indra to wrap up the procedure and she let’s Clarke assist. The graft’s holding, and Indra places a few additional stitches just to be sure. They’re able to remove the bullet, cauterize any rouge bleeders and close without any other fanfare. 

While he’s lost a lot of blood, he’s alive and should make it barring any complications. 

When her and Indra finally emerge from the OR, a small crowd is waiting for them. Finn stands off to the side, subdued. And Clarke knows she should comfort him, she does. It’s what a good girlfriend would do. But she just can’t make herself break off from the group to go placate him. 

Instead, she focuses her attention on her friends and coworkers and basking in the afterglow of a successful surgery. 

“I would pay good money to see the look on Abby’s face when someone tells her about this,” Wells chuckles, giving her a massive hug. Clarke can’t help the laugh that escapes her. 

“She’ll probably make a comment about how I should have fixed the elevator.” They share a knowing look because that’s exactly the kind of thing Dr. Abigail Griffin would say upon learning that her only daughter completed an emergency solo surgery in an elevator as a second-year resident. 

“Killed it, Griffin,” Miller grins at her, clapping a hand on her shoulder. 

“The opposite, actually,” Monty chimes in, and Miller gives him an exasperated look in response to the cheesy attempt at a joke. 

“You know what I meant.” Clarke just beamed at her friends, knowing that for the straight-faced Miller, his display was about as heartfelt as it gets. 

They all talk about it for a few more minutes before the party is broken up by Indra. “You all have jobs to do. Time to get on with them.” 

The rest of Clarke’s shift is much calmer in comparison. She makes rounds on patients, gets caught up on paperwork and stands next to Indra as they give updates to the rookie’s family. She finds out his name, which Clarke never got while they were in the elevator, is Riley.

She’s on a high pretty much the rest of the day, but she can’t stop herself from continuously looking out for one particular freckle-filled face. Bellamy hadn’t been around when she finally got out of surgery, mostly likely in a surgery of his own. But she selfishly wants to know how he thinks she did, wants to see that grin that he always gives her when he’s impressed.

_ He has his own shit to deal with _ , she reminds herself as she walks through the ICU doors to check on her last patient of the night. 

Riley is propped up in his bed, trying to get down some lime Jello by the look of it. 

“He’s awake,” she smiles, grabbing his chart from the end of the bed. 

“Thanks to you, I hear,” he grins back. He still looks a bit weak, but that’s to be expected after the trauma he’s been through the past 12 hours. 

“I was just a pinch hitter for Dr. Porter. She came in and got you all fixed up once the elevators got unstuck.” 

“Well, either way. You saved my life today, Doc.” 

“Clarke. I had my hands wrist-deep in your abdomen earlier today, so I think we’re on a first-name basis at this point,” she jokes. He gives her a toothy smile. 

“Well, Clarke. Getting shot isn’t usually my best-performing opening with a beautiful girl, but what would you say to a drink once I get out of here?” Riley is objectively rather cute, dirty blonde hair and blue eyes. And he’s certainly charming.

“I don’t think my boyfriend would appreciate it, but I’m very flattered by the offer,” she says with an apologetic smile. 

“It was the whole, ‘you’ve seen my kidney up close and personal,’ thing right? I’ll admit, I’ve planned better first dates.” Clarke can’t help but laugh at that, and Riley gives his own chuckle. 

Of course, Bellamy picks that moment to give a knock at the door. 

“Hey, Dr. Blake. I was just checking on Riley before clocking out.” He just leans up against the doorframe, giving her a short nod. 

“You had one hell of a doctor on your team today, Riley,” he says with a small smile, never taking his eyes off of Clarke. She feels her cheeks flush a little under his gaze. This was not normal workplace behavior for him, more like three drinks in behavior. When she finally looks back at Riley, he’s giving her a knowing look. 

“I had a pretty good teacher,” she admits. “I’m wrapping up here. Wait for me in the resident’s lounge?” she asks Bellamy. He just gives one more nod before leaving. 

Clarke does a final vitals check for the night and double checks Riley’s pain medication dosage. 

As she’s wrapping up jotting down everything in his chart, he says, “I forgive you.” 

“For?” she asks with a cocked eyebrow, barely raising her eyes from the chart. 

“If I had someone who looked at me like that, I wouldn’t want to go on dates with rookie cops either.” Clarke nearly dropped the damn chart. She quickly recovers, willing the flush she can feel creep up her neck back down. 

“Oh, that’s not...we’re not…” she fumbles for the words. “Dr. Blake and I are just friends.” 

“You sure he knows that? God, if that’s what your friends look like, I’d hate to see your boyfriend,” he comments wryly. Clarke gives him a mock scolding look. 

“Someone is nosy this evening.” 

“That’s not an answer, Doc.” He’s got a shit-eating grin on his face that strangely reminds her of Murphy. 

“Goodnight, Riley. I’ll check on you in the morning.” 

As she’s walking out of the room, she hears him call out, “Bring the boyfriend!” She just waves him off with a raised hand, shaking her head. He’s going to be in the hospital for at least another few days, and she already knows he’s going to be a handful during rounds. 

Bellamy is waiting for her in the lounge, reading a book on the couch. How he has time to study procedures for his fellowship while still being the most well-read book nerd she’s ever met never ceases to amaze her. She slumps down over the arm of the couch, looking up at him from where her head lands near his thigh. 

“Today was the best day,” she smiles. He dog-ears his page, putting it aside to give her his attention. 

“I want to hear all about it,” he prompts. She runs through the procedure, from the suturing technique she used to how nervous-yet-steady she felt throughout the whole thing. He listens intently to her recount the story, invested even though she knows she isn’t as talented a storyteller as he is. 

“From what Indra told me, you were a badass in there today. I don’t want to come off as condescending by saying this, but God, I’m so fucking proud of you.” She basks in the compliment. Regardless of their close relationship as friends, he is also a mentor to her at the hospital. His opinion matters to her, and it’s nice to hear that he’s proud of how she handled herself. 

“Thank you. I’m just glad it all worked out,” she sighs. “Really, I should be thanking you for telling me to assist in all of your practice procedures on cadavers and the training dummies. Otherwise, I don’t think I would have been able to pull it off.” 

“I think you probably would have managed. Sure, the practice helps. But you can’t teach someone how to be steady in a stressful situation. I mean, you were there to see Collins choke.” He says the last part with a bit more bite than she thinks is really necessary, but she doesn’t push it. She doesn’t want to talk about Finn right now. 

So instead, she leans up to poke his cheek instead. “You coming to The Dropship with us tonight? Your sister texted the group promising to buy me a drink to celebrate me not killing the guy.” 

“Um, I can’t actually,” he says. She just pouts in response, waiting for him to explain. He runs a hand through his hair, telling Clarke he’s nervous about something. “I have a, uh, a date. Kinda. Well, at this point, I’m running late for a date, but I wanted to hear about your elevator save before I left for the night.” 

“You kinda have a date?” she raises her eyebrows, spinning around to sit up and look at him.

“Don’t look so surprised,” he responds wryly. “It’s actually with one of the nurses, Gina?” 

Clarke knows exactly who he’s talking about. The woman he was dancing with at the party a while back. She swallows hard, tamping down the weird feeling that’s creeping up her chest. 

“Is it serious?” she asks, her voice a little higher than normal. 

“No, it’s still really new. But… I think I really like her,” he admits. He’s looking at his hands clasped in his lap, not making eye contact. God, he really does like her. 

“I’m happy for you, Bell,” she exclaims, grabbing onto his hand and plastering the biggest smile on her face possible. One of her best friends going out with someone he really likes is a good thing. She’s thrilled for him. 

She focuses on those thoughts, ignoring whatever had lodged itself into her throat. Giving him a quick and chaste peck on the cheek, she stands to change into her street clothes. 

“Well don’t leave her waiting, you idiot! I can talk your ear off tomorrow during shift.” 

With a rueful smile tugging at his lips, he gets up off the couch to leave. Clarke busies herself with her cubby. When she turns around, he’s pausing in the doorway, giving her a look like he wants to say something. 

“Something wrong?” she asks, hesitantly. Once again, she can’t quite read the expression on his face, something that’s becoming more common as of late. But instead of answering, he just shakes his head. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Princess.” And with that, he leaves her alone in the lounge. 

Clarke spends the rest of the night drinking with her friends and teasing Murphy as he works behind the bar. But she can’t quite shake that sinking feeling that’s taken root that feels suspiciously like jealousy. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and sticking with me through this story! We're just getting started, y'all. <3 As always, a huge thanks to my amazing beta reader Mars (@loverosie). Let me know what y'all think of the story so far. 
> 
> And come join me on Tumblr @changingthefairy-tale for S7 fic speculation and other fun Bellarke commentary! :D


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